One Hundred Days of Summer
by chezchuckles
Summary: Always SPOILERS. Co-authored by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles. How Kate Beckett and Rick Castle spend their summer.
1. One: Sunday

**One Hundred Days of Summer**

* * *

**One**

by Sandiane Carter

* * *

"You never call me Rick," he observes rather inanely the next morning.

She's curled at his side in bed, her body warm and pliant and wonderful against his, and really he's not sure he should complain considering the amount of times he got her to gasp - and moan, oh, and whimper - _Castle_ last night. There were variations of it too - _god, Castle_ and _Castle, please_ were among his favorites - and seriously, he's got Kate Beckett in his bed. What more does he need?

"Or, well. Only when you're mad at me," he corrects, part of his brain wondering why he's not just _shutting up._

But she smiles against his shoulder (oh, being able to _feel_ her smile) and then she moves, propping herself on her arms and shifting until she's draped over his chest. Her mouth finds his, deliberate and lazy and hot, and he kisses her back, his head spinning a little more with each delicate swirl of her tongue. He's breathless and stunned when she lets go, whispers into his mouth, so softly. "Rick."

She trails her lips over his jaw, the hollow of his neck; he feels a flick of tongue and his whole body jerks, strains towards her, the beautiful length of her legs, the smooth plane of her stomach, the curved brush of a breast against his chest.

She laughs - she _laughs_ - low and intimate, a lovely sound, and she splays a hand on his ribs as if to keep him in place.

"Rick," she murmurs again, and oh god, oh god, he's an idiot - he asked for it - _he's never going to survive this_. His mouth is open but there's no air going through; he tries desperately to get some oxygen to his lungs, and when he does manage he can't help the sound that goes with it, some humiliating mixture of a grunt and a sob.

Kate's mouth is at his stomach, exquisitely slow as it slides over his belly button, and she does that thing with her tongue again and oh god _oh Kate_-

"Rick," she breathes, and this time he whimpers, doesn't even care; he might just die anyway, because surely he's hyperventilating now.

She drifts lower, and lower, and her lips are alive and merciless and _so warm_, burning against him, and he doesn't remember shutting his eyes but the lights are dancing behind his closed lids, beautiful flames coming up and up.

He's never letting her use his given name again.

* * *

She stands in his kitchen and although it's nothing new, although she's been here before, there's something different now.

_She_'s different. More relaxed, more...comfortable. Like she lets herself belong.

Kate turns back and smiles to him, looking so inviting, so free, and he hurries forward, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. Can it really be that simple? He kisses her because he can't help himself, just a brush of their lips, and the way she hums makes him want to take her straight back to the bedroom.

She must see it in his eyes; she chuckles and raises an eyebrow, stepping back to settle on one of the kitchen stools.

"Feed me, Castle."

He stares at her for a stunned, joyful beat, the weight of it too much, too good for his poor heart. And then he does as he's told.

* * *

It's only when he hears the key turn in the lock that he remembers his lunch plans with Alexis. Shoot. He's been watching Kate tease him with the grapes he found in his fridge, the way she pops them into her mouth, one by one, before she chews slowly with her eyes trained on his, and-

It slipped his mind.

He straightens and takes a step towards the door, hesitates. He doesn't know what Kate-

"Hey, Dad," Alexis offers cheerfully as the door closes. His daughter steps into the living-room, comes to a full stop when she sees he has company. Her eyes flicker from him to Kate and back, probably taking in the casualness of their stance. "Detective Beckett," she says, almost a question.

"Hi, Alexis."

He's so surprised by the easy tone, the lack of guardedness in Kate's voice, that he involuntarily turns back to her. Her green eyes are on his daughter, careful and calm, but so - so open. Everything bare for Alexis to see.

His heart twists, painful but oh, so good. She's in this.

Alexis must come to the same conclusion, because she doesn't say anything more, doesn't comment in any way. She simply tells him, "We still on for lunch, Dad?"

Lunch. Yes.

"Of course," he answers immediately, can't keep his eyes from straying towards Beckett. "Alexis, would you mind - would you be okay if maybe we asked Kate to-"

He's not even finished his sentence when his - his what? His detective, his girlfriend? The word makes him feel funny inside - his partner, then, is already shaking her head as she slides off the stool.

"No," she says with a half-smile. "This is your private father-daughter time. Wouldn't intrude on it."

He wants to argue, wants to say he needs her - needs her _always_ - but she's almost at the door, sliding on her shoes, and Alexis looks pleased and there's obviously nothing he can do.

He's watching with a sinking stomach, expecting Kate to just wave and be off, but she surprises him again. Instead of going straight for the door, she comes back for him, lays a hand over his heart as she leans in and brushes her lips over his cheek. Not his mouth, no, but the long breath she draws in and the time she spends lingering are clear enough.

"Call me when you have time?" she says quietly, and if he didn't know any better he'd say Kate Beckett was nervous.

"Sure," he breathes back, and then she's truly going, peeling the warmth of her body off him and striding confidently towards the door. He meets Alexis's eyes, filled with questions and concern, but he can't focus on that because he can't master the brutal panic that has sprung up in his chest.

No. It's not-

"Kate," he calls suddenly, the urge stronger than any sense of pride he might have left. She's already outside and he rushes after her, yanks the door open, calls her name as he jogs to the elevator.

He comes around the corner and there she is, waiting; she turns her clear, tender eyes to him when she hears his footsteps, and he feels like the biggest moron in the whole history of - of the universe, at least.

He pauses a few steps away from her. Runs a hand into his hair. How does he get out of this one?

"I just-" her gaze is questioning, patient, and his secrets spill out despite his efforts. "I needed to make sure it wasn't - a dream."

Sorrow, desolation flash in her eyes; the next moment she's pressed against his chest, kissing him fiercely, her palms cupping his jaw. There's something rough, almost aggressive in the scrape of her teeth, the desperate slide of her tongue - he knows what she's trying to do, but it's not working.

"Kate," he murmurs the first chance he gets, closing his fingers around her wrists to try and make her stop. She does, and after a moment she steps back, something like a blush spread over her cheeks.

"I'm sor-" she starts, but his fingertips are caressing her mouth to keep her from saying more.

"No," he says gently. "No. I love you. I'm in love with you, Kate. It might just...take a little while to sink in."

_That you want me. That I have you._

Yesterday at the same time he was so sure they were over, that they were done, that he was going to be reading an obituary for Kate Beckett soon enough and there was nothing he could do to stop it...

He doesn't have anything against this turn of events, but it does seem too good to be true. Her fingers skitter along his neck, so soft, and he finds himself smiling.

"Okay," she whispers, kisses the corner of his mouth slowly. "Okay."

She gives him another one of those luminous smiles, and he feels his chest breaking open.

"See you later, then."

"I'll call you when I'm done with Alexis," he promises, and watches her step into the elevator that has been waiting patiently all this time.

The doors hum closed and he gets one last look at Beckett's face, all that love shining bright, before she disappears.

He just-

There are no words. No words.


	2. Two: Monday

**Two**

* * *

by chezchuckles

* * *

She's taking it easy in the bathtub, trying not to feel the bruise in the shape of a thumb at her neck, the throbbing at the base of her spine, the tight pinch of her ribs, when she realizes she's doing such a good job of ignoring the hurt that she's drifted right off into fantasy.

What she wants him to do, the heat of the water and his mouth, the slide of soap-

Kate presses her wet hand to her cheek and sits up, heart pounding suddenly with memories of that night, their one night_,_ and she doesn't want to be here. She wants to be there, so badly, but she's done with selfishness when it comes to him. She's done. She will do what's good for him, for once. She'll be good.

Doesn't stop her from wanting him though. Doesn't keep her from thinking about the stunned gasp into her mouth, the thud of her body against the door, the press of him over her, into her, and the way his adoration made her whole being narrow to the pinpoint existence of _them._

And then waking up to him, spending all morning in bed, the sunlight pouring over them. He studied her body as he studied everything else about her, his fingers gentle on the bruised places, not asking, not even a heavy sigh, and she was so grateful to ignore it and just _have him._ Until lunch, and then she left. So he could be a father to Alexis.

She spent last night alone, and she didn't want to, but his daughter - and that's important - but she's not doing this again. She's not going to spend another day half-hating Alexis for keeping them apart, and half-hating herself for not figuring this out sooner.

She dries off slowly, carefully avoiding the marks of her fight with that sniper - with death incarnate - winces as she hangs the towel back on the bar. The night before she didn't seem to notice. The night before-

When she checks her phone this morning: _She still needs me._

And even though it shoots heat straight through her to read that, even though she wants to say, _That makes two of us,_ she texts him back: _Don't leave her._

And then because she doesn't want him to doubt her, not any longer: _L__ast night was miserable without you. So come when you can._

And then because she knows how his mind works: _Yes, like that too._

* * *

She's done everything she can think to do last night and this morning and all she has left is pacing the floor.

Yesterday when she got home, the place silent and drab, she closed the shutters, but it blocked out the light and it felt disingenuous, like maybe she doesn't know what she wants - but she does know. So she opened them again and stopped looking, just dismantled the evidence of her obsession piece by piece. It wasn't even hard; it came down easily. She never once hesitated.

Everything went into a box and then in her closet. _Maybe she should show him?_ Maybe this should be something he does with her, a catharsis, the two of them getting rid of it. Cleaning it out of her life. Their life.

_Their life._

Her heart pounds again, palms damp, and she needs him here. Really, how long does it take to coddle an eighteen year old?

That's unkind. She remembers how that felt - that things will never be the same again, that it will never go back to being good, that the life you knew with your family is finished and-

Well, it turned out to be true for Kate. She went away to college, came back at Christmas only to have her mother murdered the next month. And so Alexis is right to feel needy - things happen and it might not ever be the same again.

And fiercely, desperately, Kate wants that to be true. Real. Because Kate wants to be part of it, inside of it, _with him_, and that means it will change for Alexis, that there won't be just her father, and that's scary, for them both, for all three of them no doubt, but it's what has to happen. Because she is not letting go.

But first, Kate needs to be careful. Selfless. She's not going to take anything from them, not anymore. She also can't recreate herself around another person. She can't make Castle into the substitute for her job, her obsession. This is what she's been afraid of all this time, and it doesn't feel like that's what she's doing, but she has to be so careful. For him. For Alexis too.

Which is why Kate spent last night alone. Because Alexis needs him more.

She's packed a bag because she doesn't want to stay here, (all their terrible fights started here, at her place) and maybe it's superstitious (even though she's not) and maybe it's shying away from the hard parts, but she doesn't want to be here any longer, at ground zero for everything wrong.

Kate makes a circle through the living room, back towards the kitchen, stops at the door and stares at it, willing it-

When the knock does come, she startles so hard that she bites her tongue. Her hands shake as she reaches for the lock, twists the knob, and it's him, him, finally-

"Castle."

Then she's at him, not even letting him in the door, her mouth on his hot and hard and desperate because maybe he's too good for her, maybe she's not made it clear enough, maybe a night apart changes things, maybe this is more fragile than she knows.

His arms come around her tightly, lift her off her feet; she gasps into his mouth and stiffens, hides the reaction by drawing a leg up-

"Kate?"

Not enough. Didn't hide it well enough.

"You've got - there's a bruise on your neck too. Your back I saw but now. And your arms - you couldn't reach up in the shower. What happened?"

So now the questions. Now comes reality.

She tilts back from him, heart pounding, need colliding with cold fear, deja vu washing over her sickeningly at that question, but they figured it out, he listened and she talked for once, and they can do this too.

"Got in a fight with the sniper. Got choked," she admits, wincing at the look in his eyes. His fingers feather along her neck, but he can't seem to stay away; his mouth comes back to hers, soft and reverent, his tongue touching the edge of her lips and sliding inside.

Oh that's good.

Everything is good. His body cradles hers, nudging her back until she trips over the bag in the entryway, has to clutch his arms to keep from falling.

She laughs and catches his smile, sees him glance down and figure out what they've stumbled over.

"You think you're coming home with me?" he smirks, that smile getting wider, easier.

She nods, lips spreading, body leaning back in towards his. But maybe Alexis-?

He nudges her nose with his. "You don't want to - hang out here?"

She brushes an open-mouthed kiss against his jaw, slides her hands around his back. "Hanging out isn't what I had in mind."

He lets out a laugh, fingers at her hipbones and digging a little too hard, but she won't complain so long as he doesn't stop. His mouth comes back to hers, slowing them down, and she curls her hand at his neck, liking the way he lavishes her with his touch.

"Your bed is bigger," she says finally, lifting her eyes to his.

He grins. "I haven't even seen your bed."

"We can fix that," she says immediately, forgetting entirely that she wanted to get out of here, and laces their fingers together so he knows what happens next.

She doesn't even have to tug this time; he leads the way, eager to check out her bed.

* * *

She shivers but lets him touch, watching him for signs of sorrow, for a reason to cut him off. But he's not sad, just thoughtful, and his palm is warm and light at her back as he traces the contours of the ugly bruise spread at the base of her spine.

"It hurt?" he says finally.

"Yeah."

"Still?"

She nods into the pillow, but reaches back and catches his hand, brings it to her mouth. "Not enough to stop."

He does smile at that, and crowds closer, drawing her up into him. She curls at his body and then kisses the soft underside of his jaw, the warm and musk-scented skin at his neck. She could stay here forever.

"Kate," he says quietly, and he does it again, puts her off, his hands gentle on her cheeks and this time his eyes apologetic. Like he doesn't want to, but he thinks he should. "Kate, why are you here?"

Her heart breaks, and she bows her head into his chest, clutching at him, struggling to breathe past the shame of what she's done to him. "I want to be. I want to be with you, do you not trust me-"

"No, Kate, no. Not - not that. I know that." His hands stroke up and down her back, his mouth at her temple, her cheek, searching for her lips. A long and hot kiss that burns most of it away.

"What then? What are you asking me?"

"I meant. It's Monday, the middle of the day and I'm flattered, but when you left, I guess, I assumed - I thought you'd be going in today. I thought I missed out on staying in bed with you all day Sunday."

Oh. Oh, she hasn't - there's so much that's happened and everything in her head and what exactly did she tell him the other night? Nothing really.

He rushes into her silence. "I'm sorry. I know you said that you - you wanted - but the guy got away? And are you really not - are you choosing me over-"

He stops, looking stunned all over again, and she can't help but feel it rush through her like pride and power and _how good this is_-

"You. I just want you."

He stares at her. "But."

"I quit, Castle. I quit my job. I'm not going in today, or tomorrow. Or next month."

"_Kate_," he hisses, his hands cupping her cheeks. "You know I didn't - that's not what I meant. Just for you to - just this case. This one case. Not all of it-"

"Castle," she murmurs gently, prying his fingers off of her face so she can soothe the ragged edge of his voice with another press of her mouth to his, soft, so soft it hurts. "Castle, I'm done. I'm done with it."

"Done with . . .with your job?"

"I don't need it anymore. It served its purpose."

He's just staring at her, confused, and she knows she's got to make him understand. Because he's been instrumental in this.

"The badge kept me from drowning. It propped me up. Until I didn't need it any longer. I outgrew it, Castle. Partly because of you, but mostly because of me."

"You put in the work," he whispers, echoing her statement a week ago.

She nods back, lifts her fingers to trace the edge of his mouth. "I used to think that I wasn't anything apart from my mother's case. Her murder. But that's changed these last few years, and I wasn't - I didn't know how to let go of the one thing that had always saved me."

"Kate," he sighs, his lips brushing her fingers.

"Castle, I know what I am, who I am without it. This is who I am. And I want to be this person with you."

He nudges her hand aside and strokes the lines of her face, something strong in his eyes, something that looks like faith - the assurance of things hoped for.

"So does that mean we can spend all day in bed together?" he murmurs, a spark of charm in his smile again.

"Hmm."

"And tomorrow too? And the next day, and the next. . .I got money enough for this to go on indefinitely."

She laughs and gets close enough to kiss him again, lips to his shoulder, trailing along his collarbone, her tongue touching the hard-swallowing part of his neck. "I could be persuaded."

"Let me persuade you then."


	3. Three: Tuesday

**Three**

* * *

by Sandiane Carter

* * *

He's texted Alexis his whereabouts, so he doesn't hurry the next morning. He takes his time and lingers in Kate's bed, that silly delight cascading over him when he realizes once again that he's allowed into her space, into her life.

(He would say _into her heart_, but she hasn't said it back yet, and he doesn't want to presume. Although, really, it might not be presuming when she looks at him like that, beautiful and smiling and wide open).

Holy crap, it makes him dizzy, makes his head spin. How much she's given him, _is giving him_ - and for years he got only tiny scraps of her, little glimpses into Kate Beckett, dreams and fantasies, an unfinished sentence, an unfathomable look, and now - _now-_

He gets the whole thing. He gets-

So much.

He doesn't even know where to start.

"Memorizing my bedroom, Castle?" she teases, a hand splayed at his ribs. Her voice holds that dark, lovely, morning roughness; it pulls him in, makes him press his lips to her round shoulder, her sharp jaw, and brush that content, lazy smile.

"Yes," he admits unabashedly, shifting closer. "I'm fascinated, Beckett."

"Oh yeah?"

She says that laughingly but she also arches against him, tilts her head back so he can get at her neck; he takes what is offered, worships her clear skin with his mouth, lavishes it with his tongue. He will not say no to her.

He will never say no to her again.

* * *

When she finally manages to drag her sore, satiated body out of bed and into the shower, it is well past eleven and she would probably feel ashamed if she had any energy left to spare.

She doesn't, though, and so she rests her back against the wet tiles, her eyes closed, her body soaking in the warmth as she tries to ignore the places of her that are not so thrilled with being sprayed with water.

It will probably take some time for the bruises to heal, for her neck to stop complaining when she stretches it, but it's all good. She doesn't mind. Not when she has Castle to soothe the marks with the gentle caress of his thumb, of his lips, of his tongue.

Mmm, his tongue-

Kate opens her eyes and forces herself out of it, torn between laughter and consternation when she realizes that she's fantasizing about the very man who is still currently in her apartment, and who thoroughly - oh, _yeah_ - thoroughly had her just an hour ago.

She turns off the shower (_enough of that_) and steps outside, drying herself with one of the white, oversized bath towels that she loves and bought for herself.

Hm. Clothes.

She drifts lazy eyes over the messy pile of her yesterday clothes, decides against them, but can't manage the willpower to go into her bedroom, open her drawers, put herself through the exhausting process of _choice._

"Kate?"

Her head swivels and she smiles, can't help it, knows a disgusting amount of sweet, sickening love must be pouring out of her eyes. At least Esposito isn't here to make fun of her.

"In here," she calls back.

Castle pushes the door open and finds her; his whole face goes soft and she remembers a time, long, oh, so long ago, when a much younger Kate Beckett declared firmly to her best friend Maddie, "I will never fall in love with a gentle man. I want him to be challenging, to know what he wants. I don't want a big softie."

Well, she knows better now, doesn't she?

She didn't know at eighteen. Didn't know she didn't have to choose, that he could be both. She can almost see her mom's smile, hear her laughing, scolding voice in her head. _Oh, Katie._

Castle kisses her, mouth opening against hers, so very tender; his hand is at her neck and something must be wrong with her, because all her hardness, all the reserve is gone, and she never wants to stop basking in his love.

"Hey," he murmurs into her lips, and oh god, oh _damn_ they're that ridiculous couple you see in movies and want to laugh at, because she whispers back, "Hey," and her mouth breaks into a grin.

Ah. Can't help it now, anyway. Too late.

"You're kinda hot," he huffs into her cheek, and wow, she laughs. She actually _laughs._

Oh dear god.

"Having trouble finding clothes?" he hums, and she rolls her head off his shoulder, meets his joy-filled eyes.

"Makes you happy, uh?"

He doesn't even pretend to hide it. She expects him to offer his help - she's already preparing a really good 'no' answer - but he surprises her instead.

"I made you breakfast," he announces proudly, so adorable that she has to stand on tiptoe and press a kiss to his mouth.

"Oh?" she says, encouraging and pleased and silly. She remembers that last time (oh, in another life) and tilts her head at him, regards him curiously. "Is it pancakes?"

He looks a little disappointed that she's seen through him so fast.

"Well. It *is* the thing I do best," he defends himself, pouting, and Kate smiles - or was she already smiling? She can't seem to turn it off these days.

"Not complaining, Castle," she tells him brightly. She pauses. "Well, unless there's a dead body waiting at my door."

He wrinkles his nose at the memory. "Ah, I - I haven't checked. I will - go do that. Right now."

He moves away but she catches him, hooking her fingers in the first thing she finds - the waistband of his jeans. "Wait," she breathes, hovering close, her lips brushing at his collarbone. He shifts back to her, arms coming around her, light and unassuming.

"Kate?" he says, her name a question but no uncertainty, no trace of doubt in his voice.

"Just. Stay here for a little bit," she commands, nestling into his chest, breathing in that recognizable Castle smell, mixed with hints of something else she thinks - ohh, the pancakes. Mmm. Smells delicious.

She loves being in bed with him, loves to have him stunned and gasping, the feel of his body moving in rhythm with hers, but she also loves this - just - little bursts of normalcy, peaceful, quiet moments that she thought, for a few dreadful hours, she'd never have with him.

"Kate?" he whispers against her hair, lips moving at her temple.

"Hmm?"

"I love you too."


	4. Four: Wednesday

**Four**

* * *

****by chezchuckles

* * *

"I just feel safe here," she says, shrugging her shoulders at him.

"Hey, I'm not complaining." Castle grins at her, reaches out to take her hand as he opens his front door. "Just wish you didn't feel . . .not safe? at your place."

She ignores that though, moves past him into the entry. Alexis is at the bar eating lunch, her fork dangling from two fingers. He heads for her first; Castle hasn't seen his daughter since yesterday afternoon and now she turns at his approach, hugging him with one arm.

He kisses her cheek. "What've you got?"

"I made enough for all of us," Alexis says, lifting hesitant, hopeful eyes to him. "It's just chicken and pasta."

Castle glances back at Kate; she's still standing in the living room, her bag in her hand. She drops it by the couch at his look, comes over to them at the counter.

"Looks good. I'm starved." Kate gives Alexis a smile and then shifts around him towards the kitchen. Evidently, she remembers where everything is, because she opens up the cabinet and gets down two more plates, hands one back to him.

"Close your mouth, Dad," Alexis says softly, nudging his side with her elbow. Castle drops his gaze back down to his daughter, gives her a rough laugh.

"Yeah. I - Yeah." Kate just - she's in his kitchen and getting down plates and - okay. She's at home here; she's going to sit down and eat with him and Alexis. That's good. That's really good.

"It's in the oven, Kate." His daughter hops up from the stool and comes around to open the oven door. "I was keeping it warm."

Castle watches them together, Kate quiet but calm, Alexis peeling back the aluminum foil on the casserole dish. Kate scoops some out with a serving spoon and then glances back at him.

"You gonna eat or just stand there, Castle?"

He jolts forward, holding his plate out to her so she can dish it out. Before he can think better of it, he leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, lifting his eyes to see hers.

She gives him a half-smile, her hand curling at his forearm, and then she turns back to their lunch like it happens every day, like it's nothing.

He still hasn't gotten used to this.

* * *

She laughs and turns her head against the pillow to look at him. "What are you doing?"

Castle does grin back at her, but he looks reluctant to share, as if he's embarrassed by it. Still, his fingertips stroke the line of her neck, his eyes soft in the late afternoon light. She reaches up and catches his hand, brings it to her lips to kiss him.

"We should get up," she murmurs. Lunch was good, after-lunch was even better, but-

"Why?"

She drops his hand and moves to brush the hair off his forehead, his eyes studying her. "Alexis has to know what we're-

"Ew."

Laughter bubbles up again and she curls onto her side to look at him, both arms pulled up to her chest against the softness of his sheets. He's lost the thread of their conversation, she can tell, because he's back to staring at her. His fingers skate past her chin and slide to her neck again, stroking.

"Okay, what is it?" she says, grinning. The afternoon light spilling in the windows behind him puts his face in shadows, but she can tell he's still half-awed and hesitant. "Tell me."

"Your skin is so soft," he says, the adoration in his voice nearly too much.

Kate feels his fingers running over and over the line of her neck, curling up at her ear, stroking back down. She takes his hand and threads their fingers together, then kisses his palm.

"You know, yours is too," she says quietly, smiling back at him. "Soft."

His breath puffs out on a laugh. "Is that some kind of remark about having a desk job?"

She laughs and shakes her head, scoots in closer to him on the bed. "No. Just in some places. Good places."

"Yeah?"

She nods even at the amusement on his face. "Like here," she murmurs and brings the inside of his forearm to her lips, brushing at the smooth skin over the veins in his wrist, a strip of soft strength.

His startled breath, the curl of his fingers up to her cheek makes her grin and lift her eyes to look at him.

"Where else?" he whispers.

"Here." She slides closer, her fingers drawing down his forearm until she can press her lips to the inside of his elbow, her kiss shaping around the angle of his arm.

"Yeah?" he breathes out, his fingers sliding into her hair as if to hold on.

She moves in under his arm so she can touch the ridge of his collarbone with her fingers. "Here," she says, putting her mouth against the hollow at the base of his throat, touching her tongue to it.

"Kate," he groans, his hand fisting in her hair.

"Here too," she continues, stroking her fingers down his chest to his waist, flirting with the ripple of his abdomen before sliding around to his back. She brushes against him with a light touch, stroking in the valley where his muscles line his spine.

She watches the darkness pool in his eyes until his body can't hold back any longer, and then she presses herself against him, pulling his hips in closer to hers and arching her neck to kiss him.

"And especially here," she murmurs against his mouth and then slides her tongue past the seam of his lips and into the soft, amazing heat of him.

* * *

"Have a good nap?" Alexis asks, smirking at them.

Castle hooks his arm around his daughter's neck, kissing the top of her head. "Shut it."

"No, no, I think that you're in a much better mood after a _nap._"

Kate laughs from behind him and he glances back at her. She shrugs at him, still smiling, her fingers against her lips as if _remembering_, and jeez, _Kate, don't look at me like that._

"Is it too gross?" Kate asks, nudging his hip as she moves past him to lean against the kitchen counter.

"I'm sticking with _nap_, and I'm not thinking too far past that," Alexis says cheekily, grinning at them both.

Kate laughs again, sounding so at ease that Castle could kiss her, just wrap her up in his arms and devour her for it, but she tilts her head and glances at the stuff Alexis is going through on the counter.

"So what's all this?"

"Summer Experience packet for Columbia," Alexis answers, pushing it their way. "It's two weeks; you take some honors classes, get to meet professors, and have mixers with the other incoming freshman who'll be in the honors college with you."

"Hey, that's cool," Castle says, picking up the brochure and studying it. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"Telling you now aren't I?" Alexis says, and she sounds like she's rolling her eyes. When he glances up from the shiny color photo, he sees that - yeah - she is. The little imp.

"When is this?" Kate asks, her fingers brushing the activities schedule. He wonders if she's thinking what he is - that it sounds like two weeks of nonstop - uh - naps.

"In July. Mine is anyway. They have one in June too, but I want to chill out before I get back into it, you know?"

"Sounds good," he answers, handing her back the brochure. "What do you need me to do?"

"Just help me find my health insurance stuff?"

"I don't need to sign anything?"

Alexis gives him a smirking look. "Dad. I'm eighteen. I don't need you to sign for me anymore."

Oh.

Kate's fingers snake into the waistband of his jeans, tugging a little. He glances at her and she's regarding him with a tender expression. Because she knows him, and yeah, Alexis being gone is going to take some time getting used to as well.

Kate slides in closer and slips her arm around his waist, lifting on tiptoes to kiss his jaw.

Alexis laughs. "Looks like you'll be fine, Dad."

He glances back at his daughter, but there's nothing in her eyes but happiness for him. He reaches out to her and hugs her around her shoulders.

"But I'll still miss you, pumpkin. All the time."

When he pulls back from her, she pats his chest. "It won't be the same, Dad, but I think maybe it might be better."

At his side, Kate squeezes his hip as if in confirmation.

And she's right.

It's already better.


	5. Five: Thursday

**Five**

* * *

She's been thinking about them off and on all day. She didn't mean to. She meant to let everything in the past stay in the past; she meant to spend at least all week being lazy with him and curling up in the way he loves her.

Instead she's wondering where she left her phone.

Kate surveys the living room and draws her knees up to her chest, tries to focus again on the movie they've got playing. John Woo's _Mission: Impossible II_ this time, which she likes, but can't seem to stay focused on.

His hand drops to her knee and shakes it. She glances over at him with a question and finds him grinning at her.

"Kate. Go. Do. Whatever it is you can't stop thinking about."

She sighs and leans her head against his shoulder. "I don't want to."

"Regardless, you're not here now. So do this first, and then come back to me. Us."

Kate glances over at Alexis who is cradling her phone and texting someone; the girl doesn't seem to notice what's going on.

"Okay," she sighs softly. "I need to - I should talk to Ryan."

She watches his face intently, but he just nods; he hides whatever else he might think about that. Does he assume she'll be trying to get back in? Or does he just not care?

She can't even try to explain. "I'll call from our - your room," she says quickly, sliding away from him on the couch to stand, her heart pounding.

"I heard that," he says softly.

She ignores him for now (she just said _our_) and heads for the bedroom and her phone. She finds it thrown on the chair, calls Ryan's cell. It's Thursday; he's probably at the precinct. Alone. No partners to back him up like he deserves.

"Beckett?"

"Hey, Ryan."

"Why are you - how are you - ah, what's going on? Everything okay?"

She closes her eyes and sinks to the floor, leaning back against the bed. She rubs at her forehead and tries to summon her courage. "I'm fine. Ryan, look, I need to say thank you."

"No."

"Yes. You saved my life."

"It's what partners do," he says quietly.

"You did more than that," she answers, biting her bottom lip. She curls her knees up to her chest and drops her chin on top of them. "You were smarter, and you did the hard thing telling Gates, the right thing, Kev. You did the right thing."

He lets out a long breath, gives her a dry chuckle. "I'm just - glad we got you in time."

Suddenly she can't stand to be alone, away, images of the street spinning out under her, dangling by a finger. "Yeah." It's too heavy, too dark, and she wants the light of his living room and his daughter and him. She gets to her feet and heads back through the doorway.

"You really okay, Beckett? I heard - we heard you quit."

"I did. I quit," she says, coming through the study now, her spine straightening. "I'm fine."

"Yeah?"

"Promise," she says, sliding back into the living room and catching Castle's smile with her own. "How about you and Esposito? The lovers' spat over?"

A choked noise from his side of the phone and Castle laughs out loud as she sinks down beside him, drawing her knees up again.

"Come on, Ry. You guys kiss and make up?"

Castle laughs again, his hand sliding up her thigh to feather his fingers at her knee. He's smiling at her, his movements rather unconscious-seeming, and she wriggles down next to him, puts her head against his shoulder, the phone up to the other ear.

"Ah, not exactly, Beckett. He had your back; he says I didn't trust him. But he - no. He's not happy with me."

"I'm sorry. My fault. You want me to call him?"

"No," he gasps, sounding aghast. "Jeez, no. No way."

She's totally going to call Esposito. Right after this. Soon.

Castle plucks the phone from her hand, ignoring her gasp of protest, and barges in on her call.

"Hey, man. Look. Do we need to put you guys in time out until you can play nice?"

Kate snatches her phone back, slapping his arm. "Ryan, ignore him. He thinks he's funny." She glares at Castle, narrowing her eyes, and he just grins, so very pleased with himself.

When she pays attention to Ryan again, there's a kind of awed silence on his end.

"Ryan?"

"Here. Yeah. Here. Uh. I'm guessing Castle is back on the team?"

Kate's eyes dart to the man beside her, his fingers curling at her ankle. "He's on my team, yeah."

"Good," Ryan breathes out. "So you really are good."

"I'm fi-" She stops, sucks her bottom lip between her teeth as she watches Castle idly split his focus between the television and her. His hair is mussed again, pushed forward into his eyes from where her hands have run through it.

She is more than fine. "I'm great, Ryan. Actually. I'm great."

* * *

"Do not text Esposito," she says on a growl, yanking her phone away from him. "Or fine. Text him, but use your own phone. I don't want him thinking I'm that big a sappy girly mess."

"Oh, straight to the heart," he mutters, but he's still grinning like a fool as he pushes on her thigh with his feet, trying to kick her off the couch. "You think I'm a sappy girly mess?"

"Aren't you?"

"You are too," he shoots back. And ah, darn. Yes. She is.

"You guys keep it down," Alexis complains, shooting them both dirty looks, her feet slung over one end of the armchair, head propped up by the other. "Seriously. This is a John Woo movie."

Castle pulls a face, and Kate laughs and claps her hand over her mouth, trying to be good. "Castle," she hisses, holding her phone away from him again. "Stop it."

He stops reaching for it, but resumes digging his toes under her thigh so he can stretch out. She wriggles at the intrusion and loses her spot entirely, finding herself sitting on his ankles.

"Haha, I got the whole couch all to myself."

"Not for long," she mutters and dives into the space between him and the back of the couch, squirming to get around him, shoving on his chest to move him over. He huffs a breath out and clutches her wrists, drops a devastating kiss on her mouth like a bomb, her mind scattered in an instant.

His tongue attacks the seam of her lips and strokes inside, hot napalm to the roof of her mouth, a forceful surge that has her dropping her phone to reach for his-

"Ha! And now I have your phone."

She blinks dumbly at him, her mouth wet and ripe and _lonely_. "Castle."

"Yeah?" He looks like he knows exactly what he's done to her.

She narrows her eyes. "You wanna play dirty?"

"Oh yes. Yes please."

"Gross you guys," Alexis says, getting up from the chair.

Kate jerks up and off of him, chagrinned, trying to tug her shirt back into place where Castle's hand sent a sneaky foray up her back. "Sorry. No. Alexis sit. He was being mean."

"Dad stop being mean."

"Hey now-"

"Stop being mean, and give me back my phone," Kate says, turning her eyes back to him, trying to telegraph more than just that silly request. She couldn't care less about whether or not he texts Espo. Well, no, she wouldn't love it. But she cares more that Alexis gets to have time with her father than whether or not he's messing around with her phone.

Castle catches her look and his eyebrows go up, but he nods, struggles to a sitting position. "Fine. I'm not gonna be mean. Alexis, sit down and finish the movie with us."

"On one condition," Alexis says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Kate's heart trips and she averts her eyes from the girl, already withdrawing her hand from Castle's thigh, scolding herself for pushing too far, being too much, making his daughter uncomfortable. She promised herself she would-

"We go out for ice cream afterwards," Alexis says, flopping back down in the armchair. "All of us. Okay? The good kind."

Kate lifts startled eyes to Castle, but he's already grinning, doing a fist pump like an eager child. "Yesss. Such a good idea. Ice cream it is. Kate?"

She stares at him, swivels her head to take in Alexis, the girl entirely serious-looking even in her amusement, and then Kate glances back to Castle.

"Yes. Okay. Ice cream."

Castle leans in and kisses her mouth, sweet, swift, and hungry. He pulls back still grinning and hands over her phone. "In the meantime, you should call Esposito. He should know you're - how did you put it? - that you're great?"

She rolls her eyes at him, grateful for the way his humor brings her back up again. No way does she begrudge him his coping mechanisms now. "Yeah. That's what I said, Castle. I'm not repeating it after today, so get your money's worth."

He's still laughing at her, eyes so smiling that they're squeezing all the blue out. And then she realizes what she said and shakes her head, reaching out to curl her palm at his cheek.

"No. Not true. I'll probably say it again and again. As long as you want to hear it. I'm great. I'm more than great."

The smile drops off his face in place of melting tenderness; he leans in the last little bit to kiss her so very gently, his nose brushing against hers, nuzzling.

"Love you too, Kate."

And again, it makes everything easier, makes it okay that she still, even still, hasn't managed to say it first, hasn't found the time or place to say it at all.

The phone in her hand buzzes with a message and she startles back, glancing down at her alert.

From Alexis:

_You guys are still being gross, but I guess I'll have to live with it._


	6. Six: Friday

**Six**

* * *

****by Sandiane Carter

* * *

She awakes to a soft staccato sound the next morning; her still-drowsy brain first ascribes it to raindrops on the window, but when she finds the strength to slide her hand out from under the pillow, to roll onto her side, she realizes her mistake.

"Sorry," Castle winces, pausing only long enough to cast her a sideways glance.

The intensity on his face is entrancing, the blue of his eyes as brilliant as she's ever seen it; she contemplates him with a brimming heart, not knowing if her throat is dry from sleep or from finding him at her side.

Writing.

"I tried not to wake you," he apologizes again, his voice reflecting his distraction, his split focus - but oh, she loves it.

She's in Richard Castle's bed, and he's _writing._ Because of her.

"It's fine," she says softly, her head spinning. If he only knew.

Maybe he *should* know.

The idea leaves her a little breathless, as confused and shy as she remembers being as a little girl, when her mother would introduce her to a stranger and tell her to say 'hi'.

Ah, it's - it's too early for this. But-

"Castle?"

The trick is to not let herself think about it, because if she does, if she gives herself even a minute, she'll never tell him.

He takes a moment to answer, though, his fingers flying over the keys at a mesmerizing speed as his lips move soundlessly, like he's trying out the words on his tongue before writing them down; Kate smiles and bites her bottom lip, tries to dampen the response of her body.

"Kate, I just - let me just - finish this scene?"

He can't look away from the screen, it seems, and there it is again, that sorry note that she doesn't want to hear in his voice. Kate pushes herself up, the sheet sliding down to her waist, and she leans in to brush her lips to his ear, his cheek.

"Of course," she answers warmly, loving the smell of him, the roughness of morning stubble along his jaw. "You take as long as you need, Castle. Write. I'll shower, and make coffee, okay?"

He does tear his eyes off the laptop then, turning that intense stare to her without warning, all lovely, burning fire; she swallows, tries to be good.

He drops his gaze to her bare chest, licks his lips, looks up at her again; she can feel her determination wavering. But no - she needs Nikki, needs very badly to know what happens next, and so - so she should let him write.

Even if. Ah. Even if she wants him.

"You write, Castle," she says again, her voice thin, thready. She rests a hand on his chest to push him away, but can't quite manage it; instead she moves forward and places a light kiss against his throat. He grunts and she closes her eyes, be good, _be good, Kate-_

"Come find me when you're done," she whispers. "I'll be here."

And then she escapes swiftly, doesn't even look back over her shoulder.

She knows he's staring, anyway.

* * *

He types in the final period with that heightened sense of satisfaction, pride puffing up his chest, that delicious, exhilarated feeling that always comes with a scene well done. He skims through it again, fixing minor mistakes as he goes, before he closes the document and grins to himself.

It's good.

The scene's good. The novel's going good. He wouldn't have said that a week ago, but a week ago he was convinced that Kate didn't love him, or didn't love him enough to not walk - no, _run_ - to her death.

And now?

He's swarming with ideas; his brain won't go quiet, won't leave him alone. It's Nikki this and Nikki that, and oh Rook could say this and then she would do that and...

Only with Kate, only with Kate does he get stretches of cool, lovely silence, and he adores her for it, for the stunned gasp of his mind when she lines her body with his and kisses the hollow of his neck, when she looks up at him with her eyes so dark-

And on that note. Where *is* Kate?

He closes the laptop and pushes it down on the bed, changes his mind, grabs it to slide in the drawer of his bedside table. Never know, right? Might need the bed. Without warning. He might not have time to tidy it up and put things away.

He grins, stretches as he gets up, shakes his legs to get the blood flowing. He usually knows better than to write with the laptop resting on his thighs, but this was sort of an emergency. Nikki needed him, and she wouldn't let go.

Castle yawns widely; his stomach lets out a loud rumble and he looks down with a laugh. Wow. Okay. He's hungry.

But he would also like to shower and get out of his pyjamas.

Uh. Food or shower? Tough choice.

Kate. He'll find Kate first.

The rest can wait.

* * *

She looks up from her book when he comes out of the office, heads for her; her lips curl into a smile and she sits up, tucks her feet underneath her.

She's pulled an armchair up closer to the couch so she can get the morning light. His armchairs are ridiculously comfy; it actually takes considerable effort to wrench her body from the inviting cove made by the black leather, sit up straight so she can talk to him.

"How's Nikki?" she says, taking in the happy look in his eyes, the relaxed way he sinks into the couch across from her.

"She's good," he answers lightly. "Much better, thanks to you."

She laughs, can't help it, the stupid, irrational delight that swamps her. "Not sure how I had anything to do with it, but good. I'm glad."

He gives a narrow-eyed, _you're crazy_ kind of look, and he hooks a hand behind her knee, yanks her to him. She yelps as she tumbles forward, the book jerked off her lap and onto the floor before she catches herself on the arm of the seat, her other hand splayed on his knee.

"Castle," she hisses, suspended between the armchair and the couch in a position that cannot be graceful. He smiles shamelessly, tugs her forward with his hand; she gives up and slides down next to him on the couch, but keeps feeding him dark looks all the while.

He seems pretty much unaffected.

"So what're you reading?" he asks happily. She bites her cheek to keep her grin from escaping, keeps a stubborn silence. She's not telling him.

He lifts an amused eyebrow at her, then leans forward with a hand on her thigh, craning his neck to get a better view of the paperback that landed on the rug.

"In... _In A Hail Of Bullets?_" He stops, looks at her, perplexed. "_In A Hail Of Bullets. _Really? You've got all my books lined up on the shelves, and you choose that one to read?"

Kate shrugs, feels the smile floating on her lips. Ah, well. "I like this one," she offers, nothing more.

Castle stares at her inquisitively. She stares back.

"O-kay," he draws out slowly. "You like this one. Any...particular reasons? Apart from the poor grammar, the overuse of alliteration and the lack of believable motive for our schizophrenic killer-"

She hits him square in the chest, lets her hand linger there.

"Shut up," she says. "It's really not that bad."

He looks at her in disbelief.

"Oh, come on, Castle. It was the first novel you ever got published - no one expects it to be your best work. But the grammar's fine, and I like the alliterations, and-"

She presses her lips together, tries to put words to it. "There's just. Something so genuine about your characters, about the way they think, the way they are around each other... I - I believed it. I still do. And that's why it's so easy to get lost inside your novels, forget about the rest of the world, because... They ring true. As cliché as that might sound," she adds dryly, a little self-conscious now.

But he's obviously not noticed; he's regarding her with something like awe, his mouth hanging open, blue eyes so wide. Her hand moves up from his chest, caressing his neck, settling at his jaw; she can't quite believe how - surprised - he looks.

"Castle," she breathes laughingly, her cheeks warm. She must be blushing. Damn.

"I'm sorry - I - it's just..." He closes his eyes, half-chuckle, half-sigh, then opens them again.

"It's not like you didn't know that I love your books," she points out curiously, her fingers curling at the back of his neck.

"Ah - I - yes?"

She's confused, and he probably sees it on her face, because he rolls his head back against the couch with a frustrated sigh.

"I know it from external sources. Ryan and Esposito have told me things, and then your square-jawed, FBI ex-boyfriend hinted at it, but-"

"Castle. You caught me in the women's bathroom looking for page 105."

And she never thought she'd be bringing that up ever again, but, seriously. Where's that huge ego of his?

He laughs, a flare of heat in his eyes before he runs his hand down his face. "Yeah, but see - that could be explained away. You were worried about how that sex scene made you look, and took the first chance you got to make sure I hadn't gone overboard or..."

His voice trails as he shrugs; she gapes at him. "I let you follow me around for _four years_! I let you put your hands all over my crime scenes-"

"My hands all over _some_thing-"

"-and spin nonsensical theories-"

"Hey now," he opposes with a pout. "They're not always inside-the-box theories, I'll give you that, but they _make sense_. Every one of them."

"Castle. You're missing the point here."

He looks at her, a slow smile dawning on his face. "I'm not. I promise. I know what you mean, but I'm a writer. I live and die by the critic. I don't think I'll ever stop feeling insecure about my writing, no matter how much money I make, how many people come to my book signings and gush over it."

"That's crazy. You're good. Clearly. Twenty-something bestsellers can't be wrong."

He studies her, shrugging a little. "But it's you, Kate... You're important to me; what you think is important to me. I have trouble believing that you could ever...well, love my books. And talk about them like you just did. With such feeling, such passion."

He's watching her with a mixture of shyness and adoration, and she's just - she's breathless. No words.

She means so much that he can't believe she would love his books?

Oh jeez, Castle.

She pushes herself off the couch and slides her right leg over his thighs, settles on his lap as she finds his lips, kisses him fiercely, her tongue stroking the inside of his mouth, her eyelids shut tight to keep the tears from shedding.

His arms close around her, warm and strong and _good, _so good, and she breaks away because she has to tell him, tell him-

"Castle, your books," she manages to say before he claims her mouth again, demanding and ruthless, nipping at her bottom lip with his teeth before he rushes inside, takes her breath away, takes everything.

"Enough talking," he murmurs against her chin before he moves on to worship her neck, and oh, _oh_, that's good.

She doesn't want to talk anymore.

* * *

The water cascades down her neck, separates into a dozen entrancing little rivulets that lick the curve of her shoulder, the line of her back, before they come crashing to the white and blue tile.

He watches, mesmerized, so very pleased with himself for convincing her.

She should always shower with him.

Her hand comes up and gathers the dark mass of her hair, rolling it and resting it over her left shoulder; she shifts a little, gives him a look, drops of water like tiny diamonds hanging from her fine eyelashes.

She looks - she looks like she did that night when she knocked at his door, when he thought they were over and he had just thrown away his file on her mother's case, and it chokes him up, strangles him, the wound as fresh and raw as if they'd never spent this almost week together.

And just like that night, he pushes her back, against the cold tile, devours her lips in a vain attempt to reassure himself that she's here, she's here, she's going to stay.

She's not going to leave him.

Kate must know, must have an inkling of what's going on in his mind, because she gentles him, her tongue soothing, her hands soft as she runs them along his sides. When he finally heaves a trembling sigh, she lets go of his mouth completely, drawing him into a tight embrace, her face at his neck and her lithe body so good against him.

"Castle," she breathes, and in that single word he hears how sorry she is, how desolate. He doesn't want that. He doesn't want his fit of grief to prompt her confession of lo-

But her next words are not what he expects.

"Your books," she says, lips moving against his skin.

His books? He can't help tensing a little, because, yeah, it's good, she loves his books, but still he feels that it would only take one word, one small, disapproving word from her to make him brood for days.

Her fingers swirl at his back, light and smooth.

"You know what I said about the badge? How it propped me up, helped me breathe until I could do it on my own?"

He's not... He's not following her.

"Huh?" he manages to get out past the delicious numbness caused by her hands.

"Your books did that for me, Castle. Before the badge could, before I was even in the Academy. Your books held me up when I was drowning."

Wha- what?

He tries to move back, needing to see her face, but she won't let him; her hold on him is strong, unwavering, and her nose stays buried at his collarbone. He pushes a wet, curling lock of hair off her shoulder, has to have something of her to touch, to kiss; she shivers against him when his mouth presses to her skin.

"Kate," he murmurs, can't say anything else, can't get anything past the awe and gratitude clogging his throat. What she's giving, what she's giving him-

"That's why I love _In A Hail Of Bullets_," she says quickly, breathlessly, as if she might be about to cry. "Because - because that book and I are old friends, Castle. Because it's seen me at my worst, and it took - took care of me-"

She swallows, her jaw clenching against him, and she _finally _pushes back on his shoulders, lifts her dark, shimmering eyes to him.

"Your books took care of me, Castle. They took care of me-" she sucks in a deep breath, manages a quivering thing that might pass as a smile, "-until you could do it yourself."

He stares at her, speechless, his heart pounding in his ears. This is Kate Beckett, naked and soaked and vulnerable in his arms, telling him-

Oh. Oh.

"That," he says slowly, his voice so soft that he's not even sure she can hear. "That's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said about my writing, Kate."

She looks at him from under her eyelashes, so tender, so happy, all the light in the world displayed on her face, and god. _God._

She's so beautiful.


	7. Seven: Saturday

**Seven**

* * *

Actually, she felt like getting out today.

With him. Of course with him. But out of the loft. Into the sun and the warmth, wear a sundress and sandals, eat brunch at a cafe on the sidewalk, smile at him out in the open, flirt shamelessly with her eyes hidden behind her sunglasses.

But he's writing.

And it's probably her fault.

She has to keep her hands to herself though. She's already interrupted him once this morning when she came into the bedroom with his coffee and innocently enough set it down on the bedside table. Her hand may or may not have brushed his thigh, her fingers may or may not have curled in along the bare skin just below the edge of his boxers.

She definitely kissed him. But the rest - he was the instigator. Yes. That's her story and she's sticking to it.

Kate prowls his loft, careful to avoid the spaces that seem to be claimed by Alexis or his mother, searching cabinets and drawers idly and without real purpose. She finds a stack of unopened mail in the console table, wonders for a moment if she should hand it over, remind him, but leaves it there.

She passes him in the study on the way to his bedroom. (Yes, she keeps thinking _our bedroom_ but that's only because she's been here so many days in a row and really, it's not a statement about - okay, maybe it is. A little. A lot. It's a statement her heart is making without her knowledge.)

Her clothes and his are in scattered piles on the floor of his walk-in closet; she nudges them with a toe and debates, for the first time, what exactly she might be wearing tomorrow or the next day. When she packed a bag, it looks like her statement-making heart wasn't thinking too far ahead.

She's got no clean clothes left. Even today, she's wearing a tshirt of Alexis's and her jeans from that first night, a little stiff with dried rain, the bottoms muddy.

Kate eyes the pile of clothes and then quickly strips off her pants, dumping them on the floor as well, then turns for the dresser and pulls out a clean pair of his boxers. Green alien heads on a black background. Her lips flirt with a smile and she slides them on, tries so very hard not to think about taking them off again. Her or him.

She starts piling her clothes up, paying attention to the shirts because she knows she brought a couple of blouses that will need special care and then hang up to dry, and in the middle of this, her fingers catch on one of his tshirts, one she wore a few days ago and then had to shuck rather quickly-

Oh, well, she should do his stuff too, right? All at once. Makes more sense. Plus she likes that shirt. It's a little too small for him now and it fits her nicely. She should appropriate it. She grins to herself as she wonders how he'd feel about her stealing his clothes.

Kate grabs a pile of stuff and eases out of the bedroom, her eyes glancing to him in the study. His fingers work the keyboard, light and quick, his eyes trained on the screen. He doesn't even notice her, or if he does, it's only a quick glance in her direction that registers no details.

She escapes to the living room, bypasses the kitchen for his laundry room, opens the door to the rich-smelling scents of fabric softener and clean clothes. She dumps her pile in the floor and opens the door of his front-loading washing machine.

Oh jeez. It just hit her.

She's doing Richard Castle's laundry.

* * *

He's not sure what brings him back. He's been adrift in his own mind, his own universe, the world of his creation, but something tugs him back like a rope pulling a boat slowly towards the dock. When his craft bumps the wood piling and he looks up, the study is orange and red with late afternoon light and his daughter is standing in the doorway, waiting on her father to emerge.

"Writing coma?" she asks with a grin.

"Yeah. Sorry. What's up?" He wants to ask, _Where's Kate?_, but that's not a fair question.

"Did you - I came home just now and Kate - did you tell Kate to do our laundry?"

He startles so hard the laptop slips from his fingers; he makes a quick grab for it, heart pounding, and sets it on the floor.

Alexis is chuckling. "I guess that's a no?"

"She's doing what?"

"I mean, Dad, it's all yours really, none of mine, which I guess I appreciate since she'd have to go in my closet-"

"She's doing laundry? Oh. Wait. All her clothes - everything was dirty." He rubs at the bridge of his nose. "I'm sure she's just doing her clothes."

"And yours," Alexis says softly. "Your shirts. Don't you dry clean those?"

He stares down at his daughter, then walks swiftly out of the study to go find Kate.

Why is she doing his laundry?

* * *

Kate opens the cabinet door and glances through the various cleaning products. The washer and dryer in the loft are a luxury; she's actually enjoying this. Kate's used to sharing machines with her whole floor, fighting over the dryer, feeding quarters into the slots, and never being able to get anything done because the only time she has available for laundry is midnight or one in the morning when no one is supposed to be using the laundry room.

She just spent all afternoon doing laundry and didn't come back to find her stuff dumped in the floor and someone else's load in the dryer. She was lazy and took her time with it, letting herself get lost in a few chapters of Castle's book before getting up to change loads, or eating her entire lunch before getting his boxers out of the dryer.

She found the rest of his stuff in a hamper in the closet and since she was already doing this, since Castle was holed up in his study writing, she just -

Did his laundry.

Alexis got home a few minutes ago, didn't say much, and went looking for her dad. But when the two of them come out of the study, Kate glances up from the dining room table where she's laid everything out, separating her underwear from the tangle of his.

"Kate?"

"You get enough done?" she asks, smiling at him.

He stops still in the middle of the living room as if stunned, gives a look to his daughter. Kate feels that flicker of wariness undermining her, battles it back. She keeps the smile on her face and tries not to feel like she's being ganged up on.

"Looks like _you_ definitely got enough done," he says, coming forward again. "Kate. What are you doing?"

"All my clothes were dirty," she says, immediately defensive. She takes a step backward, but fights that too, stands her ground as he comes closer.

"So you . . .did mine?"

"It was there."

"Kate, you don't have to do my laundry."

"I know that," she says in a huff, rolling her eyes at him and batting his hands away. "You think I'd ever do anything I don't want to do?"

He tilts his head on a grin and some of her unease melts. "Good point." And then his smile grows wider and his hands come up to frame her waist, pull her in. "Does that mean you wanted to do my laundry?"

She sighs at him, insufferable man, but leans in to smudge the smirk off his lips with her kiss. "Not exactly. But close."

His eyes range over the pile of clean clothes half-folded over the table. "You have fun pawing through my underwear?"

"I have been," she murmurs throatily. "But it's not so much fun without you in them-"

He cuts her off with a hot kiss, his teeth at her bottom lip and pressing hard into her mouth.

When Kate comes back to reality, the feel of his chest against hers, his arms tight around her, she realizes Alexis has disappeared somewhere and Castle has her backed up against the table, laundry pushed to one side.

"Being domestic turns you on?" she says with a laugh, knowing that the heat staining her cheeks rats her out.

"You being you turns me on." He shakes his head at her and backs up, his hand falling down to her waist, his eyes glancing around for his daughter. His body eases a little when he sees she's gone, but his gaze slides back to Kate, hot and hungry.

He comes in close and instead of another devastating kiss, he slides his mouth along her jaw lightly, softly, his breath a sigh in her ear. His body leans in suddenly against hers.

"Castle?" she whispers, curling her hands at his cheeks in concern.

"Don't do anything you don't want to do, Kate. I don't want you to make yourself into something you're not just to-"

She gentles his words with a stroke of her thumb and a lingering kiss, wet and warm. She doens't know how to say this any differently than she already has. She doesn't need her job; she just needs him.

"Rick. Unless you're looking to do something _with_ that tiger, I think I'm good."

His laugh startles out of him, rich and deep, his hands clutching her waist. "You know that's not what I'm talking about."

She smiles slyly against his mouth and kisses him again. "Mm, but that's what you should be talking about. The rest of this, Castle, doesn't change you and me."

He takes a long sighing breath and wraps both his arms around her, suddenly downshifting their touch to a hug. But it feels good too, like he's okay again, like his mind has stopped throwing out worst-case scenarios.

"Maybe you should do laundry in just my cooking apron. Then we can talk about tigers-"

She tweaks his ear and tries to suppress her laugh. "Always ruining the moment, Castle. Jeez."

"You started it. Talking about that tiger. Now all I can think about is where I can handcuff you-"

She growls into his ear and bites at it. "Who says I'm the one getting handcuffed?"

* * *

The remark about the handcuffs made his eyes go dark and then hazy, as if he was somewhere else. And then she lost him to Nikki.

And she's not even jealous.

Okay, she's slightly jealous.

Still, when Alexis came downstairs and made some kind of comment about how she didn't know when Kate was getting any sleep with all these naps going on, Kate realized she looks pretty grim. Standing in front of his bathroom mirror now, she can see that yes, she needs some sleep.

Actual sleep. Not just sleeping together.

Dark circles stain her eyes, her cheeks; the livid fingerprints of the sniper necklace her throat. She's sure the bruise on her back looks worse too, because she can feel it every time she moves. Her shoulders are stiff again after doing laundry, the repetitive motion, and now she really could sleep. The need has fizzled out into a hum that vibrates in her blood but it's not quite as sharp as when he kissed her in the dining room.

And Castle needs to write.

When he's reassured that she actually is going to nap, a real one, he settles in with his laptop again, Alexis back upstairs with a snack and her phone. Kate slides into his bed and sinks down into his sheets, her body beginning a litany of complaints that she's just begun to listen to.

* * *

She wakes confused and in darkness, her right shoulder throbbing, her legs stiff. Kate pushes up with a hand to the mattress, tries to orient herself. When she checks the time, it hasn't been that long since she lay down, and she's not tired.

She's entirely the opposite of tired, and it's nearly four in the afternoon and she can still hear his fingers on the keys all the way from the study.

Okay, there's only so much she can take.

Kate slips out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom, waking up a little as she goes through the motions. She washes her hands, her face, scrubs the paleness out of her cheeks. She brushes her teeth and checks out her reflection. She does look better, even if the bruises are dark spots marring her skin.

Time to find Castle. Put a stop to this.

She haunts the edge of the doorway to his study for a moment, watching the rapt expression on his face, faintly surprised that she knows it's the same look he has when he hovers over her in bed, concentration and devotion and that intense way he has, building up the moment, the suspense.

Her chest expands with warmth and she slinks inside, wearing only the tshirt and boxers from this morning. When she's standing in front of him, she reaches out and skates her fingers along his temple, back into his hair.

His eyes dart up to her, back down to his screen.

"Castle, if you don't want to lose it, better save your work."

His fingers hit the keyboard shortcut almost automatically it seems, because he's frowning up at her in adorable confusion. "Kate?"

"It's saved?"

"Uh." He glances back down, does it again, a roll of his hand across the keys, and this time Kate watches the screen to make sure.

Then she closes the lid and takes the laptop away from him.

"Kate," he breathes out, his stunned eyes meeting hers as she sets it carefully on the desk.

She puts a knee to one side of his hip, her body swaying into his. She opens her mouth and lets her lips trail along his cheek, down his jaw. His hands come to her waist, clutching, fingers digging tightly. She lifts her other knee to straddle him and sinks down into his lap.

His breath jerks out against her neck and she grins against his skin, licks the corner of his eye only to feel his lids slam shut and his body lean towards hers.

"Rick, I haven't made love to you since this morning," she murmurs.

"Oh shit," he groans.

"That is entirely too long." She rocks her hips into him and he slides his hands under her shirt, pulls her against him. "Don't make me wait any more."

"Kate, _oh Kate_-"

"You trying to make me beg?"

He growls and his mouth claims hers, brutal, instinctive, and this, finally, this is the man who yelled at her last year and again a few days ago, this is the man who insists on her life, on her having a life. This is the Rick Castle who, wounded by her silence, made her suffer for it these last few months.

This is the man she needs to make it up to, and the man she needs to make pay.


	8. Eight: Sunday

**Eight**

* * *

She wakes too early and can't get back to sleep. Seven days of Castle don't erase the last thirteen years it seems. Close, but not all.

She showers at five and takes her time, so bruised that it hurts to stand under the spray. She should really take it easier, should stop - uh - instigating so much, but when she finds him writing, when she sees him sprawled in bed and she can wake him with-

She needs time to heal, and the way they've been doing this, though fun and even necessary, it hasn't given either of them time to heal.

Today will be different.

Oh, and Alexis. Damn. She forgot. There's probably some amazing, sweet tradition that Castle built up for his daughter around this day. Mother's Day. She doesn't want to intrude, but it might be nice to not be sucked down into her own issues for once. If Alexis is okay with her here.

Kate turns off the water, steps out of the shower onto the heated tiles of his bathroom. She slides a towel off the rack and wraps her body in it gingerly. For a moment she just stands there, then she sinks down onto the floor and closes her eyes, feeling all of it.

After a few moments, she can get back to her feet, dry off, start the day.

* * *

She's just made the coffee, taken her first slow sip in front of the wide windows in his living room when a knock sounds at the door.

Startled badly, Kate sloshes coffee over her wrist, burning, and hisses as it splashes to her feet. She tiptoes back a step, biting back a curse, and places her mug on the kitchen counter, grabs a paper towel to wipe it up off the floor, her hand, and finally heads for the door.

But then she pauses, arrested in his foyer, stunned with the idea that she's about to welcome someone into his loft like-

Like-

Wait a minute. It's seven in the morning on a Sunday. Who's at the door?

Kate flips the deadbolt and wrenches the door open.

And her jaw drops.

To the woman's credit, hers does as well.

"Oh, it's you!"

Meredith comes inside with both hands at Kate's shoulders, air kisses her cheeks, bringing with her a scent of lemon and roses, and the startling self-possession that Kate hated and admired at the beginning.

"Meredith," she says slowly, turning to watch the woman make her way inside. She heads straight for the kitchen and drops her purse on the counter.

"Detective Beckett, right? I remember. Kate. I'm so glad you're up - I just hopped on a plane, spur of the moment, but when I got here I realized there was no way Rick would be up, and he took my key back like - oh, about three years ago, more's the pity, but you-" Meredith pauses to breathe and beams widely. "You. Look at you. Now I see why."

Oh shit. Kate blinks and swivels her head towards the bedroom, then the stairs. "Ah. Let me go get Castle. Rick."

She starts towards the hall, changes her mind to grab her coffee off the counter before heading back. She takes deliberate steps and tries to make her brain come up with something - anything - that sounds rational or coherent.

She's got nothing.

In the bedroom, the morning sun has barely touched the edges of the room, scattered along the floor, tentative and humble. She presses her hot mug against her chest and stares at Castle in his bed.

His ex-wife is here. His daughter's mother is out in the kitchen like she belongs here and maybe, actually, maybe she does?

Yeah, okay. This isn't that bad. She knew all this before. Deep-friend twinkie, repeat sex when the woman came back into town, but it's been a while. They are both different people. And this is too much to think about right now.

Kate sighs and sets her mug on his bedside table, then sits down at his shoulder, presses her hand to his bare back.

Oh. Oh Alexis's _mom_ is here. That's good, right? Kate doesn't remember hearing anything about Meredith showing up for Alexis's high school graduation, and that has got to hurt, no matter what her mother might have said in excuse. So Mother's Day with her mom - oh, this is good for the girl.

"Castle," she murmurs, leaning over him to brush her lips along his slack mouth.

He doesn't even stir. It's early, yes, and they've had a crazy sleep schedule, and it's exhausting work, all this love stuff.

Kate grins and slides her fingers over his back, down his spine, flirting with the sensitive skin at the base of his-

"Ah," he gasps, jerking awake, head up to look at her for a beat. "Kate. Hi."

She hums and moves her hand up, curling at his neck so she can kiss him.

His fingers creep up into her hair and curl, keeping her there, and he sighs against her mouth. "Gotta be early. Too early," he mutters.

She untangles his fingers and sits up, nudging him a little with her knee. "Too early? I thought you said it was never too early to-"

"Stop using my words against me," he mutters. "Go back to sleep, Kate."

"Can't do that," she murmurs, combing his mussed hair with her fingers.

"Five more minutes," he sighs, his eyes already closing. "Feels good."

She gives him a moment, stroking his hair, the side of his face, brushing her thumb at the rasp along his jaw before she leans over him again and presses her mouth to that spot next to his eye where his skin is a little discolored. "Castle. Sorry to kill the mood, but your ex-wife is here."

He grunts.

"Your first ex-wife," she says, amused even as she says it.

He gasps and jerks up on his elbows, staring at her. "My what?"

"Meredith? She's in the kitchen."

"You let her in?" he says, and the panic on his face is cute. It's not because she opened the door, it's because it's Meredith on the other side of it.

Kate brushes her fingers over his mouth. "It's Mother's Day. And maybe Alexis wants to spend it with her mom?"

_While she still can._

And yeah, it does linger in the room a little, it makes his eyes tender as he looks at her, pauses their moment so that everything that's happened in the last few days crystalizes around that one, terrible tragedy.

And then it's gone. Like it should be.

Kate presses another kiss to his mouth, collects her coffee mug, and stands up. "Might want to put on some clothes, naked man."

He laughs. "Why? You both have see-"

She turns back, eyebrow raised, and he stutters to a stop.

"Okay," he says quietly, acknowledging it.

There are words for this, something that wants out, fierce and strong as steel, but she can't get them out past the burn of it in her chest.

"I got it, Kate," he says, subdued but certain.

She turns and leaves him to get dressed.

* * *

Just the fact that Alexis, when she comes stumbling down the stairs at seven-thirty, looks awkward and hesitant _for_ Kate, rather than about Kate, just that fact sets Castle's heart at ease.

It might actually be okay, given time.

"Pumpkin, looks like your mom wants to take you out today."

Alexis slides another sideways look to Kate, but she steps forward and gives her mother a hug as Meredith squeals in delight.

"Alexis, I thought we could go get breakfast down the street - our old favorite, right?" Meredith is stroking her hands through Alexis's hair, and honestly, Castle can tell that the touch and her mother's showing up this morning have actually healed something in his daughter that he didn't even know was wounded.

Kate did look at him funny when he answered her that No, Meredith didn't come to Alexis's graduation. He honestly - it's been such a long time since Alexis has let herself be hurt by her mother's flighty nature that he's stopped seeing the moments when they do still come.

"Sure, mom," Alexis says, cutting her eyes to him for silent permission.

"You guys should have fun," he says, giving her a look back. Does she need a bail out or does she need to spend the day with her mother?

Alexis relaxes into the embrace, smiles at him, and he nods.

"Alexis, is this what you're wearing?" Meredith asks, glancing down at her daughter, eyes skimming the outfit.

"Yes," Alexis says purposefully, giving her a look back. That's his girl. Knows her own mind, even against her mother. Good.

Meredith is already leading her towards the door, tossing a little wave of her hand at him over her shoulder. He follows, leaving Kate in the kitchen. Alexis turns back to him and hugs him fiercely, her kiss at his cheek.

"Thanks, Dad. It wasn't too weird for Kate?"

"She's fine," he reassures her, hugging her back harder for the question. "Promise."

Alexis steps back and Meredith leans in to kiss his cheeks as well, startling him as he realizes this is their usual routine but now there's Kate watching from the kitchen, and he's not even sure it's okay.

Meredith's fingers tighten on his shoulders as she regards him for a moment. She sighs and shakes her head. "Too bad. I always loved 'catching up' with you, Richard." She smiles that wide and irresponsible smile that used to fool him, used to make him think she was as deep-down strong and special as his mother.

"No more catching up," he says back, pushing her towards the door with a gentle nudge.

They disappear down the hall and he shuts the door after them, taking a long breath out in relief.

He startles when he feels Kate at his back, her arms around him in a hug. He lays his hands over hers, glances at her.

She's grinning. "Just you and me?"

Oh, he knows exactly what-

"Get a shower, Castle. You're taking me out."

"I am?"

"If I have to spend another day locked up in your loft, I'm gonna start gnawing off my own arm to escape."

He laughs at the look she's giving him, darts in to kiss that exasperated mouth. "You are?"

"I mean that in the nicest way possible, of course."

"Uh-huh. Cabin fever, Kate?"

"In the extreme. Now go get a shower. I want sunshine and breakfast with you and Central Park."

He turns in her arms and takes her up in a tight embrace, loving her all the more for the relative ease she seems to have had with his ex-wife, for the look on her face now - both demanding and arch and insistent.

"No, no. None of that," she murmurs, even as he kisses her softly. "Sun, Castle. Get me outside."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

She makes them stop at her apartment first, saying something about grabbing more clothes, when really she just wants to put on that lovely little summer dress that she bought and hasn't had a chance to wear yet.

It's a pale shade of purple, silk, with a pattern of flowers and leaves that she likes because it is so very unlike her; the dress is tight around the waist, but then it flares and stops right above her knees, the fabric so soft and airy around her thighs.

She spins once, smirks at herself in the mirror of her bedroom, and grabs her favorite pair of sunglasses - black and huge - before setting out to find Castle.

Okay, so admittedly, she bought this dress partly thinking of the look on his face. And she's not disappointed.

His eyes are a mixture of stunned and admiring and turned-on as he stares at her; she can't help swishing the skirt a little as she makes her way to him, up on tiptoes to press a kiss to that open, delicious mouth.

"Like it?" she breathes, smiling wide against his skin.

His arm comes around her waist, presses her to him, and he invests in her mouth, tongue stroking past the edges of her grin, adoration and love and yes, a healthy amount of _want_ in it, too.

"I love it," he murmurs back, his forehead resting against hers, noses brushing.

And all her girly pride vanishes, just like that, leaves her breathless and vulnerable and in awe of this man who loves her, so much, and for so long.

She splays her fingers over his cheek, thumb caressing the corner of his mouth, and she kisses him again, soft, grateful, reverent. Castle.

"Need to stop that if you want to go outside, Kate," he whispers laughingly, but he's still holding her, not letting go, and she's glad.

She needs a moment, a minute in the strong hold of his arms to gather herself, be Kate Beckett again and not this silly, lovestruck, blushing stranger.

"You got the shoes that go with the dress?" he asks huskily against her temple, and she lifts her eyes to him, bright smile pouring out, because he knows her so well.

Knows exactly what she needs, always.

She arches a teasing eyebrow. "You're gonna love the shoes, Castle."

* * *

The taste of coffee lingers on her tongue, overruns the sweeter flavor of pancakes and Castle's kiss; Kate hums and laces their fingers together, tilts her head upwards to drink in every ray of sun.

It's a truly gorgeous day; the air sweet and warm, a light breeze that drifts through Central Park's bright green leaves, ceaselessly reorganizing the fragments of sunlight at their feet.

It's Sunday, and the park is filled with life, filled with sounds. The rhythmic thud of runners' feet; the screams of children chasing one another; the soft lullabies of mothers rocking their young ones.

And then there are pairs of lovers, couples lost in each other, their heads canted towards the other as they walk; Kate smiles to see them, and it hits her suddenly-

They're one of those. She and Castle.

Lovers.

She looks over at him and he's smiling like he knows what she's thinking, like he's feeling the same, that breathless happiness opening wide in her chest, the exhilaration that sparks in her limbs; he yanks on her hand and brings her up against him, lips finding hers, soft and smooth.

Oh, how long they've waited for this.

When he breaks the kiss, it's all thrumming inside her, all that beautiful love, the things he does for her; and she's almost there, she's going to say it, but there's movement at the edge of her vision and her attention splits, the moment breaking into pieces.

A little girl is running to the path with a freshly cut daisy; she holds it proudly up for her mother, and Kate is reminded again of what this day is, what she's missing, feels the bittersweet pang in her heart.

Oh, but Castle-

She turns to him, vibrating with it, the sharp need. "Castle, your mother."

He hums as he turns his crinkled eyes to her, so content and peaceful, like nothing can get to him today.

"What?"

Oh, but Martha is in the Hamptons, isn't she? Still.

"Have you called her?"

It wells up in Kate, makes her frantic to have him understand, have him-

He looks slightly confused, like he can't see why she's asking him that, and frustration bubbles in her chest. _Come on, Castle._

"No?" he says, tentative. She gives him a pointed look.

"Mother's Day," she says finally when he can't seem to get it, when she can't bear his obtuseness anymore.

He laughs in understanding, his face relaxing, and he squeezes her hand, clearly unaware of how wound up she is inside. "Ah, that. Kate, my mother and I - we don't really have that kind of relationship. She knows I love her, and she doesn't...she's never been the Mother's Day type, you know?"

She ducks her head, trying to understand, to breathe past the lump in her chest. But it's so hard - she would give anything, _anything_, to have her mother to call today, and he does, and he...

Castle's fingers come under her chin, gently nudge her face up, too much knowledge shining in his blue eyes.

"Kate," he says softly.

She swallows.

"Does it matter that much to you?"

She wishes she could say no, honestly she does, but...

His hand moves to curl around her neck, his lips brushing her forehead, the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth. "Kate, if it matters, I'll call her, okay?"

God. He's seriously going to make her cry. This is ridiculous.

She shakes her head, the word _no_ stuck in her throat, but he's already taking his phone out of his pocket, speed-dialling Martha as he does, his spare fingers drawing soothing circles over Kate's nape, trapping her there.

And he puts them on speakerphone.

"Richard," Martha's pleased voice exclaims when she answers. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He arches his eyebrows at Kate, as if to say, _see, she doesn't care_, but he still goes on to say with a smile, "Just wanted to wish you a happy Mother's Day."

Martha laughs, surprised, but not displeased, Kate thinks. "Who put you up to this, kiddo?" the actress asks dryly. "I think you were in third grade the last time we celebrated Mother's Day; you made me that puny-looking paper flower."

He chuckles, shoots a look at Kate over the phone. "Kate might or might not have been the reason for my call."

Beckett feels a little cornered by that statement, shifts closer to the phone to say, "Hello, Martha."

"Kate," the older woman smiles, nothing but warmth and knowingness in her tone. "How lovely to hear from you, my dear. Richard informed me of the recent...developments." Kate blushes to think- but Castle's mother is asking in a kind, subdued voice, "How are you holding up?"

Oh. She means - the precinct. Not-

She hears Castle's laughing quietly at her right, gives him a look. He has this smug glint to his eyes; she must be blushing. "I'm fine, Martha," she tells the other woman. "I'm enjoying the time off, to be honest. There might come a day when I'll miss the precinct and the interesting cases, but I - I don't know. I'll figure it out then, I guess."

"That's always what I say," Martha's voice echoes warmly. "Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow."

Kate laughs, surprised she can laugh, surprised it just bubbles right out of her. But this is what his mother has always been able to do - keep it light, keep things moving, never dwell on the darkness.

"Mother, I'll let you go back to the pool. Or the piano. Which one is it?"

"You know me too well. Piano. But the pool sounds divine right about now. Au revoir, Richard. Thanks for thinking of me, Kate."

Kate grins, meeting his eyes over his phone as he ends the call, and that tight place eases in her chest.

"Better?" he murmurs.

She nods and shifts into the enclosure of his arms, insinuating herself right at his heart. He hugs her without prompting, loose enough that the bruises on her back don't flare up, but warm enough to feel his presence.

"Do you - Kate, do you need to go to the cemetery or - or bring her flowers or something? I don't know. What do you normally do on Mother's Day?"

"Work." She shrugs. "But no. I don't want to visit the cemetery, Castle. I've said good-bye to it. She's not there anyway."

His arms tighten briefly, his mouth at her ear, breath faltering. "Kate."

"My Dad says I look like her, act like her. I can see it on his face when we meet up for breakfast, hear it in his voice when I call him. My mom's with me, Castle, not buried under dirt and grass. Not buried under a conspiracy either."

"Oh, Kate." His mouth brushes her jaw, his forehead leans against her cheek.

She brushes her hand at his jaw, curls at his neck. "I'm done with hovering at her graveside. There's no life to be had standing at her grave."

"Kate," he sighs, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks, his mouth brushing against hers, relief and pleasure.

She wraps her fingers around his wrists and holds him there just a moment more before stepping back.

"Let's find some swings, Castle. I want to go high. I want to touch the trees with my toes."

The corners of his mouth twist up, the warmth lighting up his eyes. "In that dress? You're gonna flash all the kids."

"Or just you," she grins back, reaching out to trail her finger down his chest, then stepping past him and moving towards the playground. She turns to look over her shoulder at him, eyebrow raised. "You coming, Castle?"

"Every time."


	9. Nine: Monday

**Nine**

* * *

He wakes and reaches for her, blindly, his eyes still closed against the too-early light, face mashed into the pillow; but her side of the bed is deserted, must have been for a while if the coolness of the sheets is any indication.

Castle grunts, tries to shake himself, to resist the entrancing murmur of sleep in his ear; it's a long, painful struggle until he manages to open his eyes, victorious but exhausted.

He swallows, licks his lips, dehydrated throat begging for water.

"Kate?" he croaks, pushing back the covers, a long shiver running through him when the air hits his bare skin.

He grabs a pair of boxers, a t-shirt, nearly breaks his neck as he stumbles into his underwear. He catches himself with a hand against the wardrobe, heart pounding, a nervous laugh bubbling in his chest. Well, he's awake now.

"Castle?"

Kate pushes the door to his bedroom open and slides inside, the look on her face somewhere between concerned and scolding; he grins at her like a fool.

"What you doing?" she whispers.

"Looking for you," he answers eagerly, taking the last remaining steps so he can wind an arm around her waist, draw her against him. She resists a little, but in the end she comes, lets out a puff of air against his neck.

"Is it necessary for you to wake the whole building?" she asks dryly. He smiles, can't help it, because even when she pretends to be mad he can hear the tenderness shining through. It's exhilarating, too good. A drug.

He presses a kiss to her temple, her cheekbone. "That was an accident," he admits. "But you know, I could have died, Beckett. I could have tripped over my own feet and hit my head against a corner and bled to death. And where were you, uh? Nowhere to be found-"

Her lips cut him off, warm and smiling, coffee-flavored - how long has she been up? He slides a look to the alarm clock, can't help the whine that vibrates in his throat.

"What?" she asks, so soft, all beautiful dark eyes and tender mouth.

He almost forgets about his complaint. Almost.

"Seven am, Beckett? Really? Look, I know it's hard to break bad habits, but as long as you're part of the Castle household-" A shadow crosses her face and he shuts his mouth immediately, hates himself, but he's only half-awake and he hasn't had coffee and it's _seven in the morning _ for goodness's sake-

"It's just." She glances away with that look in her eyes, the look where she regrets she even said anything, but now he's seen it and he nudges her gently, his fingers wrapping around her wrist and stroking the so-soft skin, his mouth pleading with hers.

"What, Kate? What is it?"

She bites her bottom lip, closes her eyes briefly.

"It's Monday, Castle," she says quietly, and she sounds desolate and so very young, too.

Oh. Monday.

"And you...You wanna go to work." It's not really a question, more of a prodding statement, because he knows her. This is what he's been afraid of. The Kate Beckett he met four years ago, the Kate Beckett who depended on the badge and the gun and the _job_.

It was only a matter of time, wasn't it?

She chews on her lip, pushes her hair back, looking uncertain. "Not - no?" He must give her a disbelieving face, because she sighs in frustration, brings both her hands up against his chest. "I - maybe? I don't know, Castle."

She seems so disappointed. "I don't know," she repeats, and then she lifts confused, fearful, angry eyes to him. "Castle. What am I going to do?"

He can tell the anger isn't directed at him, though, and that eases something in his chest, sparks the will to fight in his heart. He can do this. They can do this. She doesn't need the 12th. She will need a job at some point, yes, because it's who she is, but there's no hurry.

"You can do anything, Kate," he says reassuringly, running his hand up and down her arm. "Anything. And yes, maybe it's scary - maybe sometimes you'll want to go back to the 12th, just because it's safe, just because it's a world you know - but remember what you told me, love. You've outgrown the badge."

She nods slowly. "What if-" she swallows, hesitates. "What if I want to go back anyway? Because I like it?"

Seriously? Is she asking if he's okay with her being a cop, when it's the reason he started shadowing her in the first place?

"Then you'll go back. But on your own terms, and because you _want to_. Okay? Not because it's the easy way out."

Determination darkens her eyes as she takes his words in, accepts them, so strong, so beautiful. God, she's amazing.

"Okay," she says, and just like that, she's his Kate again, smiling, and warm, and sure. He's breathless. "Thank you," she adds softly.

"Anytime," he promises, amazed, in love, absolutely done in by the look on her face. He leans in and takes her mouth, slowly, his tongue stroking its way inside, letting the heat gather between them. "Come back to bed, Kate," he murmurs.

Her hand curls on his abdomen, slides into his boxers.

"Yes," she breathes.

* * *

She realizes after a moment that she doesn't know where Castle disappeared to. They had lunch together with Alexis and the girl started asking Kate questions about her experience of college, what to expect, the things she was most disappointed in; they've been talking about it for at least half an hour.

Kate responds well to precise questions. Talking about herself doesn't come naturally, but when someone asks her something specific? If the question is interesting, it can go on for hours.

"Oh wow, is it two already?" Alexis says, glancing at her watch while Kate casts a look around, trying to guess what her partner is up to. "I should run - I told Shelby I'd meet her for coffee."

She jumps to her feet, wavers for a split second, then comes around the table to give Kate an awkward, but hearty hug. "Thanks for all the information, Kate. It's really good to talk to someone who's actually been through all this."

"Your dad's been to college," Beckett remarks, partly to escape the slight discomfort of Alexis's thanks.

The young woman rolls her eyes, huffs a laugh. "He says he doesn't remember anything, that he was too drunk. And he didn't finish his degree, you know."

The detective smirks - oh, she knows, and that answer sounds like Castle alright.

"Anyway," Alexis says. "I really gotta go. But I'll see you later?"

Kate opens her mouth, nods, can't quite get over how natural, how easy Castle's daughter makes it sound. Kate will be here. Later. And Alexis is okay with it.

It takes a few seconds to shake the stunned gratitude, blink away the stupid, humbling - lovely - acceptance.

And then she decides to hunt Castle down.

* * *

He lifts his eyes from the screen when she comes into his study; Kate looks dark and feral, all smooth, feline moves, and entirely too disappointed to find him here.

She looks like maybe she wanted to surprise him in bed and make him plead, oh, make him beg for it with her slow, evil tongue-

Okay, enough of that, Rick.

"What are you doing?" she asks, suspicion in the line of her mouth. How can she even know-

"Nothing," he says quickly, minimizing the window as she comes over to him. He's not too sure what her reaction will be.

Of course, she isn't fooled. She arches an eyebrow as if to say, _don't you know better?_ and she slowly, purposefully bends over his shoulder, slides her hand to his mouse and clicks on the window. He doesn't dare move, holds his breath while she scrolls over the page.

Belize vacations, tours and resorts. The complete guide for planning a Belize vacation.

He tries not to squirm.

Kate looks back at him, not angry, not upset, just...calculating. And maybe tender? Or maybe he's imagining it. "What's this, Castle?"

"I, uh. I thought it might be nice for us to go somewhere? To - get you out of the city for a while." The moment the words are out of his mouth he wants to thump his head, take them back, because it's too obvious, she'll understand-

Something like a smile twists the corner of her mouth. "To Belize?"

He slumps in relief. "I was just...looking at our options."

She watches him, that smile still hovering, not quite there, and he adds hastily, "Of course I was going to tell you, Kate. Not - not gonna book plane tickets or anything without letting you know."

She looks openly amused now; it dances in her eyes, bright and beautiful. "Good," she says, and she turns his chair so she's facing him, leans in to brush their mouths together.

His hand comes up, caresses her cheek, hooks around her neck to keep her there, with him, forever.

"What about Alexis?" she whispers, and she's so close, her smell subtle and rich and absolutely divine; it takes him a long time to catch up on what she's saying.

"I - I don't know." He's ashamed to admit he hasn't thought that far ahead. He just - he didn't like the fragile, unsure version of Beckett he saw this morning, and he thinks maybe, maybe, it would be easier for her in a different setting, if she didn't have to get up in the same city where she nearly died.

And not just once.

She kisses him again, soft and slow, and his hands find her waist, drag her to him, until she's sitting in his lap, her cheek resting against his.

"It's sweet, Castle," she tells him. "Very sweet. And - I'm not saying no? I'm just saying _later_. Keep it for when Alexis is at Columbia, doing this summer program thing, okay? I'm not taking you away from your daughter now."

He sighs, his heart heavy, because he hears what she's saying and yes, _yes, _he knows she's right. He doesn't want to leave Alexis. But he wants Kate to be alright-

"I'm fine," she murmurs against his jaw, like she can read his mind. "I promise. Rick, It's going to be summer soon, and hot, and New York will be empty then. Just you and me."

"Just you and me," he echoes, savoring the sound of it, the lovely taste on his tongue.

It's a date, then.


	10. Ten: Tuesday

**Ten**

* * *

"But it's four o'clock in the afternoon," he whines. Sure, it's rather half-hearted because she's stripping off her clothes in front of him as she heads towards the bedroom. Still.

He puts his laptop back down on his desk and follows her.

"I need to run," she says in reply, her voice muffled by her shirt as she pulls it off over her head.

Oh, no bra. Lovely.

"But it's hot outside."

She turns around and he stumbles, staring, can't help himself, and she hums something and goes back to the closet. He watches her pull out a sports bra and then wrestle it on.

"I want to sweat," she says finally. "So four o'clock is great."

"I could-"

"Castle," she says evenly, and he drops it. This right here is probably why she resisted him so long. Not the wall. Wall? No way, his whining is probably a higher and denser barrier than her wall. How can she stand him sometimes?

But then she comes over to him in just her sports bra and panties and lifts on her toes to brush her mouth softly against his. He settles his hands to her hips and she stays there.

"What was that for?"

"Shutting up," she says with a grin. "I need to run. And sweat. And it's not running _away_ and it's not that the way _you_ make me sweat isn't also equally pleasurable-"

"Equally pleasurable to _running_? You are insane. It's far more pleasurable than running," he insists.

She laughs at that, sliding her hands down his chest and stepping back. "I stand corrected. Far superior to running."

"Thank you. I try."

"Still gonna run."

He sighs again, but he does like watching her shimmy into tiny black running shorts, a white flare of detail on the sides, her legs infinite and gorgeous. She tugs a running shirt over her head and scoops back her hair, pulling it into a pony tail with the rubber band from around her wrist. Her cheekbones are vivid slashes against the pale of her face, and yeah, he can see she needs to get out.

And get more sleep. Both his fault.

She's already snaked on socks, and then she's got her shoes laced, and she's standing up and facing him.

Ready to run.

"Oh!" He jerks to his feet, stunned and happy. "I - I have something for you."

She rolls her eyes. "Jeez, Castle, maybe when I get back. In the shower."

He laughs, even more delighted by her unwitting promise, and shakes his head. "No, for the run. Wait. Come with me." He reaches out and grabs her by the hand, tugs her after him towards his study.

He unplugs his phone from the power cord to the laptop, then unlocks his screen, searching the desk for his earbuds. He's got an armband in the bottom drawer that he fishes out as his phone's main screen lights up. It's been sluggish to wake lately.

"Castle, I don't-"

"No, you do. Believe me. This is awesome." He thumbs through his apps until he finds it, taps it on.

"I don't usually run with music," she says.

"This is not just music, Kate Beckett. This is _zombies._"

* * *

She stares at him a moment, a little bewildered. "Haven't we had enough of zombies?"

His face just absolutely lights up. "No. Never. Oh Kate, oh, you are going to love this." He starts messing with the app on his phone. "It's called Zombies, Run! and it gives you these missions you do as you run and it tells you what's up ahead-"

"Castle," she says, stepping back from him.

"No. Come on. I promise. It's so great. It's _so great._"

"Are you telling me you went running?" she says.

"Uh. I - I kinda did?" He glances up at her, but he's pushing the earphones into the jack, sliding his phone into the armband holder. He's going to make her do this. "I mean. It makes you actually want to run. Let me tell you the story, okay?"

She'll just humor him for now. She'll take his stupid phone and zombie app and she'll just, she'll play a few seconds of it to appease him, then take off on her own. Do her own thing.

"Kate?"

"Fine. Tell me the story."

"Okay, so I've done the first mission already, so you can start on the second one. You are a human survivor called Runner Five. But you're from outside the city's walls, and the city doesn't exactly trust you. You escaped zombie hordes to arrive at their town, and you came bearing supplies, so they took you in."

She sighs and glances down at the phone as he pushes it into her hands. She can't help listening to the story despite herself. It's just his unbridled enthusiasm. It's catching like a disease.

"So now they send you out to raid the countryside for supplies that the town needs. Earn your keep. But you have to stay ahead of the zombies."

She lifts her gaze to him, about to tell him, really, _no_, Castle, but his eyes are so bright with it and his body thrumming with energy and she's about to go out into the world without him, alone, and he hasn't even acted all protective and overbearing about it, and she wants to reward him for it. For treating her like an adult, like the capable person she is, and also-

Also, he likes to share with her. And now her heart is all tender towards him and so she smiles, lifts her hand to his cheek to guide her mouth to his, a soft kiss.

"Okay, Castle. Let me run away from your shuffling undead."

* * *

She doesn't start his app immediately. She takes her time threading her way through rush hour foot traffic to get to Central Park, feeling like the pedestrians are zombies enough for right now.

Once on a jogging path with the trees shading her, and the slight wind that picks up, she does go ahead and put the earbuds in, but she doesn't start it up. She sets a light pace, mindful of her battered body and her slow rehab ever since getting shot last year. She hasn't run in a few weeks, so it's going to hurt.

The pound of her feet against the pavement, the measured breaths as she counts them in and out, and the flare of sunlight on her shoulders as she runs through the trees all gives her a sweeping clarity. She is thirty-two years old and she's beginning to understand herself, figure things out, and it's really not too late.

It's not too late.

Her run takes her past the pond, Belvedere Castle just in sight through the brilliant green. How strange to see that tourist attraction in light of Nikki Heat rather than just herself, her own experiences.

She wonders what other places have been colored by him - which monuments or street corners, which bars or museums have included his voice. Maybe he roamed Central Park as a teenager - he probably has some great stories. And she's not a cop anymore; she can hear them all now, not have to arrest him. Though he'd like that.

They could always pretend. She did promise cuffs.

Kate hums to herself and narrows her eyes back to the path, goes ahead and starts the zombie mission to clear those kinds of thoughts out of her head.

Castle's app plays through the end of a song she doesn't recognize and then a radio operator's British voice cuts through, strangely loud and immediate. He warns her that there's a need for first aid kits and batteries in town, and if she doesn't come back with those supplies, then it's possible the General doesn't open the gates back up.

Shit, these people are ruthless.

Kate chuckles as she listens to the mission details, finds herself cutting her eyes ahead when the operator tells her there's a clump of trees just west of the perimeter fence. As if she could actually see those trees.

She's in Central Park, so, okay, right, there are trees, but this is ridiculous.

Kate tunes out a little, watches her steps and the path ahead, the people enjoying their afternoon. When she breaks free of the trees, the sun is intense, heating her legs, her chest, flaring along her cheeks. She wipes sweat from the back of her neck onto her shorts, then has to swipe at her forehead to keep it from dripping into her eyes.

This is what she needed. Just pour it all out. Everything. All of it gone.

She's got a fast pace now, suddenly hears the computer's voice tell her she's collected a pair of underwear and a baseball bat, laughs out loud this time. Then the radar picks up a group of slow-moving zombies, approaching from the east and she finds herself gathering speed.

Stupid, Beckett. Just a game.

She slows again, mentally rolling her eyes, and resumes her pace. She has to make sure she doesn't overdo it, not after the past week, the fight for her life on the rooftop, the fight for her life in his apartment as well. She likes that fight much better.

Suddenly there's a snarling, moaning, shuffling mess in her ears and her heart kicks up, her legs automatically sprinting ahead in a burst of adrenaline that has her sucking down air and her hands shaking, halfway to a panic attack.

Zombies.

Shit, zombies.

She presses her hand to her chest, the mad and crazy beat of her heart making her breathless, and she has to stop. She has to. She can barely hold it together; she's halfway between sobbing and laughing, and neither one is really a good idea when she has to keep breathing.

She sounds insane.

Kate stumbles off the path, leans over with her hands on her knees, tries to open up her lungs again, mentally picturing her bronchial tubes opening, her throat clear. In her ear, the radio operator for the town is telling her to put on a burst of speed before the zombies catch up. _Just run._

And actually, that clear, distinctive voice is what she needs. It's good advice. This is what she came out here for, what she fended off Castle for, the chance to just run.

It's a stupid game, a story; it's not real and there is no threat, and yet-

This can be fun. If she lets it.

Kate sucks in another long breath and stands up, hands curling into fists.

_There are three zombies right behind you. Can you hear them? They're coming. Run. Just run._

So she does.

* * *

Castle is in the living room with his laptop, the late afternoon light spilling around him as he writes, when the door pops open with a bang and Kate tumbles inside.

He stares at her.

Childishness has spread across her face; she's still bouncing on her toes a little, as if she could dash off for another six miles, as if she's eager for it. She's got the earbuds in, her fingers curled around his phone, and her eyes have that half-absorbed, listening look.

The sweat glistens along her neck, paints her chest, makes her shirt cling to her body. He saves his work, shuts the laptop, and gets up to join her in the entryway.

She yanks the earbuds out of her ears and thumbs off the zombies. "Castle," she breathes out, delight in her eyes.

He reaches out and traces the line of her shoulder, across the ridge of her sports bra, down her arm. "You had fun?"

"Oh, I love it. This is awesome. I was chased by zombies three times, but I escaped and I picked up medical supplies and underwear - I mean, underwear, really? - and then, look, see here's the stuff I got. What do I do with it now?"

He leans in close to share the screen with her, looking at the log for her run. "Actually, it says you escaped only two zombie hordes. The last one got you."

"No," she gasps, crowding closer, the sweaty heat of her pressed at his side. "No, I escaped. Oh no. No, oh, I lost all this great stuff because of that damn zombie. I can't believe he got me."

He laughs and slides his hand to her neck, slick with sweat, buries his fingers in her hair.

"Ew, gross, Castle. Really?" she says, shrugging her shoulders and ducking away from him. "Tell me what I do now. I mean, do I have to take the supplies somewhere?"

"No. It's the end of the mission, you got zombied."

"I did not," she growls at him. "I didn't even hear it. Well, I heard zombies at the end, but I swear I was running. This stinks."

He grins at her. "Uh-huh."

She shakes him off and hands him back his phone with a scowl.

"You know you like it," he murmurs, darting in quickly to kiss the fierce line of her mouth. "I told you it was awesome."

She hums against him, a little acceptance and a little bit of antagonism both, then curls her hand at his neck.

"Oh," she says softly. "I thought of something."

"Me too. You mentioned a shower-"

"Before that," she laughs. "While I was running, I had an idea."

"I am not running with you. No way, Kate. I hate it. You'd hate me if I ran with you. I'd be pouting and whiny and I'm already bad enough-"

She laughs again, harder, her hand squeezing at his neck. "No, no. That's not my idea. Don't worry. Running is a solo sport, Castle."

He sighs in relief and she steps away, hooking her hand in his waistband to tug him with her. He lifts an eyebrow, smiling. "Where we going?"

"Walk and talk," she says with a grin. "I gotta shower. But here's my idea. As I was running, it struck me that you and I have very different versions of the same city."

"Of New York? We do?"

"Take Central Park," she says, walking backwards down the hall, then flipping around as she gets to his bedroom doorway, pulls him through. She lets go and tugs her shirt off. "Childhood memories of its playgrounds; hanging out with friends as a teen in all the cool, covert places. Then there's stuff from Vice where I worked drug busts and prostitution. Then, of course, I've got a bunch of murder cases-"

"Some of those with me," he murmurs, grinning at her. "Like the duel."

"Black silk boxers," she says with a laugh.

"Still haven't told me what you-"

"You should know by now, Castle," she says, sliding out of her shorts with a wriggle, letting him see the bikini briefs she's wearing. Black stripes.

"Different kind almost every day," he says huskily, reaching out to hook a finger in the material.

"I could go commando for a while, if it helps," she says, eyes hot on him.

He grins wolfishly at her. "Sounds like a plan."

"Oh, a plan," she says, twisting away from him. So not cool, Beckett. "My plan. Listen. I know you've got ideas about whisking me away, and that's okay with me. Later. But first I want to settle in here, Castle. I want to get my feet under me. Not just us, but - like this."

He stops, hands stilling at her hips, watches her for a sign, but she seems sure. She looks . . .content. Happy.

"So Castle, my idea? I want to show you New York. I want to show you _my_ city. And then I want to see yours." She reaches out and laces her fingers with his, her eyes bright and full as she searches him out.

"That's - amazing," he murmurs.

"We'll take it back and forth. Like a walking tour of the city."

He cups her cheek and leans in, brushes his mouth so softly against her lips, can't help thinking how good she feels, how right it is, finally, to have her here, have her wanting to share her life with him, thread their lives together like this.

She pulls back, curls her fingers at his neck, an impish grin sliding across her face. "You show me yours; I'll show you mine."


	11. Eleven: Wednesday

**Eleven**

* * *

Sunlight pours through the living room windows, spills on the hardwood floors; Castle's loft is almost too bright, awash with it. It's only ten thirty, but Kate can already tell the day is going to be ruthlessly hot.

She doesn't mind. She packed summer clothes the last time they stopped at her apartment; cute little shorts, dresses, a somewhat see-through blouse that Castle will love. She's ready.

_Bring it on, summer_.

She closes the Patterson novel she's halfway through and stretches her legs, peeling her bare skin off the leather of Castle's couch with a wince.

Mmm. She could go and wake him up. Honestly, it's late, and he can't possibly need any more sleep. (Can he?)

But she still hasn't figured out where she wants to take him today, and she's enjoying the peace and quiet, the chance to have a moment all to herself. To think.

Alexis came down for breakfast about an hour ago, eyes blurred with sleep; they had a quick chat after the girl finished her coffee, and then Alexis trotted back upstairs, said she was in the middle of this great book she just _had_ to finish.

Kate hopes it really is the truth, that Castle's daughter doesn't feel confined to her bedroom because of Kate's presence.

It doesn't feel like it, but-

Beckett propels herself up and takes a few steps towards the window, soaking in the feel of the sun on her body as she tries to decide whether she should go home.

Should she even call her apartment home anymore? She shakes her head in wonder.

It's crazy, really, how she doesn't feel the need to go back, to be alone, have her own space. She used to feel so safe at her apartment, protected, the only place where no one could get to her; but now?

It feels cold and removed and unhealthy, the scene of her obsession, of too many long nights spent alone, curled up in bed, her fingers hovering at her phone until she talked herself out of calling him.

She doesn't want to go back.

And it's insane for her, because she's always been the cautious one, always had a back-up plan, and so this - this whole, _I'm suddenly living with Castle and calling his room 'ours' _- this should scare the hell out of her. Send her packing.

But it doesn't.

It doesn't and she - she doesn't want to look at it too closely, she just wants to enjoy it, to close her eyes and bask in it, how different it is and how right and how _them._

Diving in together.

She presses her fingertips to her smile as if she hopes to smother it, but changes her mind and lets it bloom instead, warm and lovely, so good.

Castle.

Oh, she needs to go wake him. Now.

She spins on her heels, the force of it pushing her forward, all that joy swelling in her chest; but she's barely taken two steps when he comes racing out of his study, in boxers and a t-shirt, bright blue eyes looking for her.

Oh. He's happy.

"Kate," he exclaims excitedly, and he barrels through the living room, throws his arms around her waist, lifting her up in a tight hug.

"Castle," she gasps, laughing, when her feet leave the ground. "Put me down."

He presses a grinning kiss to her neck, makes her shiver, before he obeys.

"You're here," he sighs happily, and she foolishly, stupidly says, "Where else would I be?"

He smiles wider at that, so very pleased that she feels it ripple through her too, that delicious glow of satisfaction, and then he says, smug and thrilled, "I know where I'm taking you today."

"Do you now," she replies, amused, her heart tender and ready.

He nods energetically. "It's so good too," he adds with a twinkle in his eye, rocking on his toes with anticipation. "Can we go now, please? Please?"

She arches an eyebrow, smirks at him. "Sure, Castle. If you want everybody in the street to see your underwear."

He narrows his eyes at her. "Oh, very funny, Beckett. Fine. Be mean. You won't get to shower with me."

She bites her lip, can't help the smile. "Too bad," she drops, looks at him from under her eyelashes, all mock regret and genuine heat.

He pauses, swallows. "Ah. Well. Maybe, hm. Maybe I spoke too fast-"

Kate laughs again, delighted at how easy he is, and presses her mouth to his, gentle but thorough.

"Go shower, Castle," she tells him. "And then you get to show me this awesome place of yours."

His whole face lights up at the thought, and he fist-pumps. "Yesss," he exults, and he turns away and beelines for his bedroom, doesn't even try and convince her to join.

Huh.

Whatever this place is, it's gotta be pretty damn special.

* * *

The heat outside is suffocating, but Castle keeps her hand in his anyway, only loosens his hold so their sweaty palms won't stick together. Tourists surround them, maps in hands, their chatter partly covered by traffic; but the crowd clears after a few blocks and it becomes easier to walk side by side.

It's a pretty long distance walking, but when he suggested that they take the bus, Kate shook her head fiercely.

"It's not like we're on a schedule, Castle," she pointed out with a shrug. "We have all the time we want."

And yeah, she's right. He told Alexis they'd meet her for ice-cream this afternoon, but apart from that - no obligations. He's not a big fan of walking, but if Kate is making the effort, looking at her joblessness like it's a positive thing, a world of opportunities for them both, then...

The least he can do is walk.

Even if he can already feel the sweat trickling down his back.

"So you're not telling me, are you?"

He turns his head to Kate, the lovely smirk on her lips, and he wishes he could see her eyes. But she looks good with the sunglasses too - she looks like a movie star trying to go incognito. Well. She looks like a movie star most of the time, if he's honest.

And she's wearing a dress again. Really, life doesn't get much better than Kate Beckett in a dress next to him, the long, neverending line of her legs flashing at him with each step-

"Castle."

"Huh?"

She arches an eyebrow over the glasses, and he suddenly remembers her question.

"No, Kate, I'm not telling."

"Not even a tiny clue?"

Hmm. It wouldn't be smart. She's a detective. But when she's pouting at him like that-

No. _Be strong, Castle._

"Not even that," he says firmly, distracting himself with the play of the breeze in her long hair, the slow twirl of the dark, beautiful strands.

He wants to thread his hands through them, angle her face so he can kiss the sharp, lovely angle of her jaw-

"Castle," she warns, her voice low, a little dangerous. He swallows. "You gotta stop looking at me like that if you really want us to make it to wherever it is we're going."

Looking at her like-

How can she even _know_? He's got sunglasses on, for god's sake! He opens his mouth to protest, but thinks better of it and sighs instead.

She's right. She's right.

Gotta stop fantasizing about her if he wants them both to get there.

He slides her a sideways look, can't restrain his grin. Oh, yeah. He really wants to share this with her.

* * *

"A hospital." She shoots him a look that he probably can't see through the glasses, turns back to the Mount Sinai Hospital. A hospital. Why on earth-

"Patience," Castle says, looking far too amused. And proud of himself.

She kinda wants to hit him. A little bit. A lot.

Instead she rolls her eyes and follows him inside with a sigh, because obviously, somewhere in his twisted mind, Richard Castle has a good reason for this.

He takes her hand again when he stops them in the hallway to check the floors attributed to the different services; she lets him, tries to persuade herself that it's only because the air conditioning makes the place so much cooler than the outside temp.

Not because she trusts him, even when he's being smug and mysterious and annoying.

Right, Kate.

The hospital looks spacious and modern: a glass façade that lets in the light, a main entrance that's well organized, seating areas with cute trees around them (probably fake, but it doesn't show).

"Third floor," Castle says, trailing her after him as he moves to the elevators. "That's what I remembered."

What he remembered. O-kay.

A doctor stops the elevator doors just in time to get on with them; he bears an uncanny resemblance to Patrick Dempsey, and Kate bites her lip to smother the bubbling laugh, because Lanie _loves_ Grey's Anatomy and oh, she would totally freak out.

If Kate could take a picture-

But they're already on the third floor and the man is shuffling to one side so they can get out. Kate sighs, follows Castle out. He turns right and strides forward; she has only time to glance upwards and read, _Pregnancy and Birth Service._

Uh. Castle?

She slows considerably, wary and slightly uncomfortable - he's not trying to send her a message, is he? Because yes, their week together's been wonderful, and yes, she's nearly living at the loft at the moment, but _come on, Castle_-

"Come on, Beckett," he says eagerly, turning back to her with a bright grin. "Keep up. We're almost there."

She swallows her misgivings and bravely plows ahead, turns left after him at the end of the corridor.

"Ah, there we are," he says happily, coming to a stop in front of a large window-

-that looks onto the nursery.

Oh no. Oh no. Is he _serious_?

She sucks in a breath, the panic spreading in her chest and _everything was going so well she was doing such a fine job of not freaking out and not running and he brings her to a goddamn _nursery _what is wrong with you _Castle-

"This is where Alexis was born," he says quietly, not looking at her, sounding humble and awed, so very Castle that her heart wavers.

"Oh," she can't help breathing out in relief, wanting to laugh at her own reaction. But he turns to her then, eyes beseeching, and damn it - of course he sees it all.

A disbelieving, delighted smile curls his lips.

"Kate. Did you think-" his voice trails off like he can't even speak the words - can't bear that much happiness.

Oh, there's just no way he will let go of this. She sighs.

"Yeah," she admits grudgingly - the sooner she does, the sooner he'll stop teasing her. "Yeah, Castle. Go on. Say it."

But instead of saying anything more, he shifts closer to her, his hands coming up to cradle her face; he lifts her chin a little and slowly, reverently, he kisses her mouth.

Oh, she thinks dazedly as his tongue slides in, seeks hers smoothly. Oh, yeah. That's nice.

"I love you, Kate," he whispers into her lips. She feels him smile. "Oh, I love you. And I would never - God, I would never try to _pressure_ you into that-"

"I know," she cuts him off softly, and she does, she knows. She was being stupid. "I know, Castle." She kisses him again, a gentle press of her lips, to acknowledge that. "So, Alexis was born here?"

It knocks the breath out of her, the brutal joy that flares in his eyes, a love so fierce and full and without boundaries that she can't help wanting-

Too much.

Wanting too much, Kate.

"She was," he says, and that peculiar smile makes him so handsome, a mixture of pride and soft amazement that must have been what he looked like as a young father, a twenty-two-year-old with no idea how to even hold a baby.

"She was so tiny, Kate. I kept asking the nurses if it was normal, her being so tiny, and they would just shake their heads and smile at me. It should have annoyed me, but I didn't even care. When I looked into Alexis's eyes - I - nothing else really mattered anymore. I kept telling myself _my daughter, my daughter, my daughter_, but it didn't make it any more real, and I couldn't believe just how perfect she was."

Oh. Oh. She can see it, him - this young Castle with his red-haired baby daughter, completely in love with her, oblivious to the rest of the world.

"What about - what about Meredith?" she asks, hoping that the change of topic will maybe keep her from completely melting. "Where was she?"

He sighs, but it doesn't reach his eyes, doesn't tarnish the bright happiness that shines there. "Meredith insisted on having a C-section. She said there was no way in hell she was passing something the size of a watermelon through something the size of a grapefruit. Anyway, she was asleep after the surgery, and so it was only Alexis and I for the first few hours."

The first few hours and most of Alexis's life.

Kate hums, curling her hands around his biceps as she stands on tiptoe to push a kiss against his mouth. How lucky, she thinks, not for the first time - how lucky that Alexis had this man, this wonderful, silly, adorable man, to care for her and love her and make her the center of his world.

And he's sharing that with Kate. His daughter.

He's sharing his daughter with her.

She closes her eyes against it, because it's so beautiful, so beautiful what he's giving her, and she wishes-

She hopes she can give just as much.

"Thank you for taking me here, Castle," she murmurs against his jaw. "I wish I'd been there to see it."

"I wish you'd been there too," he answers, eyes so crinkled that she can barely see the blue, like the love is squeezing it out.

And she can't help the words that fall from her mouth.

"Well, there's always next time."


	12. Twelve: Thursday

**Twelve**

* * *

Castle stands in front of the eight-story glass edifice on East 34th Street off the FDR. He can see the East River from here, smell it too. NYU Medical Center practically dwarfs the office building Kate has brought him to; this area of Manhattan is crawling with people, the street choked with traffic. He's not sure why they're here, except that today she wanted to show him something of her city.

She hesitates on the sidewalk.

"Kate?"

"Well, two for one today?"

"Okay," he says, a little bewildered. "Sure."

She's been withdrawn, as if under glass. Still affectionate, still woke him this morning with coffee and the complaint that he _sleeps too much_, her lips pulled up in a smile, but he thinks this is the default Kate, the one the world gets when she's protecting herself.

And he doesn't know why, but it maybe has something to do with that statement she tossed off yesterday - innocent and arch all at the same time - putting it out there like it's nothing.

Maybe next time.

Uh-huh. He will not soon forget that.

It explains the mood. The insular way she's approaching the world, and him as well. He can try to let her take her time, but he's one hundred percent certain that something smart-ass is going to come out of his mouth about it. He hopes it's funny when it does.

"So, two places today. What's first?"

She stands on the sidewalk with her face pointed towards the Medical Center, reaches back to take his hand. "This first. From right here though. We don't need to go in; it'll take too long."

He takes a moment to check her out - hair touched with sunlight, those sunglasses again, the outfit in greens and browns and blacks - some kind of draping thing that hugs her curves, and then leggings with leopard print flats. She reminds him of LA, of when she was on her own time out in the warmth of California with him.

"Castle?" she says, turning over her shoulder to look at him, tugging on his hand.

He steps up beside her and waits.

"NYU Medical Center has this amazing rehab center - the Rusk Institute. You probably know that."

He does.

"That's where I was."

Yeah. He knows that too, but he stays silent.

She lets out a shaky sigh. "For rehab. From last summer."

"Yeah," he breathes out, then squeezes her hand. "You could afford that?" He's not fishing, he's really not; he just wonders how much her father has told her, how much, in fact, her father himself knows.

"Dad paid for most of it," she says quietly. "Rusk isn't exactly covered in our city health insurance."

"I'm glad you could go here."

"Me too. I think this place shortened my recovery time practically in half. Actually - I don't know how my dad paid for it either," she says with a shrug. "He said something about a gift and I thought he was being funny. But now I wonder."

She tilts her head to look at him, calculating. Does she wonder? She's a detective; she must have an idea that it was him.

Castle keeps his mouth shut, shifts his eyes to take in the sprawling NYU complex. Rusk is renowned for its level of care and its standard of rehabilitation. He wanted first and foremost for her to get her life back, whatever that meant, even if she didn't want him in it.

Kate comes up on her toes, hanging on to his shoulder for balance, and presses an open-mouth kiss to the edge of his lips. She doesn't say a word, but he feels gratitude and pleasure in it, his heart pounding at her touch.

And then she turns and heads back for the eight-story office building, her hand loose in his.

"Kate?"

"Yeah," she says, tugging him after her, hair spilling off her shoulders.

"I'm glad you're here," he says, because - for once in his life - he doesn't know how to say it.

She gives him an indulgent smile and stops on the sidewalk, waits for him to come to her, and then she does it again, lifts up on tiptoe to get at his jaw this time, the scrape of her teeth coming to play along his chin.

Oh, he adores the height difference. Beckett in flats is just too good.

* * *

They stop in the lobby, all sleek chrome and black banquettes, a plastic ficus, no lobby security, just a row of elevators in the middle and a huge black board listing the companies renting floor space.

Kate sighs at the change. "This isn't how it used to look," she mourns, spinning around slowly in the lobby. "There used to be carpet. Like in the old buildings in the city - threadbare carpet and the ceiling had those copper or tin ceilings."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"I guess - well, the law firm has gotten bigger. Since I was here last," she murmurs, then leans against one of the eggshell white walls.

Castle is being patient, just watching her, so she takes a breath and plunges into it. "This is where my mom and dad first met."

He grins at her, a slow thing that spreads across his face as he casts his eyes around the lobby again. "Yeah?"

"Nearly forty years ago," she says, stunned herself at how much time it's been. How much time since everything, all of it. "They worked on the seventh floor - both very junior lawyers in the Carney firm."

"Carney?" he says, lifting an eyebrow and grinning at her.

"Not like circus people. A man's last name, Castle." She rolls her eyes and takes him by the hand, tugs him over to the black board. "See? Oh, look at that, Carney rents out the top two floors now."

"So your parents both worked here."

"They did. My dad said it took him something like four years to get up the courage to even tell my mom-"

The look on his face makes her stumble; she feels the blush climbing her cheeks.

"Oh really. History repeats itself then."

She sighs at him, leans in to hook her arm around his neck, drag him down for a grateful brush of her lips. "Let me finish my story," she murmurs against his mouth.

"My bad. Go on," he whispers back, kissing her again, his hands hot on her hips.

She breaks away, stepping back so she can find her voice again. "The way the firm worked back then, the top partners basically took only pro bono work. Everyone else, in order to pay for that practice, worked like dogs on anything and everything, making up the lost revenue. All of it criminal law."

"Actually, that sounds rather noble."

"Maybe so. I don't know. My dad didn't love it. After I was born, he quit Carney and went to a firm closer to where we lived. He told my mom she should quit too, that it wasn't worth the hours."

"Oh, really? I can't imagine anyone telling your mom to quit."

Kate grins at him, a surge of pride flooding her chest. Not because of her mom, well that too, but because of him, because this man is hers. Because he actually seems to know Kate's mother, and how she was, and that makes it easier somehow. Maybe Kate has managed to continue her mother's legacy, to honor her memory despite all the - the grief - the heartache. The death. Maybe Kate has managed to show Castle her mother's life as well.

"So. What happened when your dad told her that?" Castle prompts, nudging her hip with his thumb, still hanging onto her.

"Mom refused to quit. She had already put in the work and she was going to make partner soon. She wanted to take on indigent cases, people who didn't have the money to pay for an attorney. She didn't want them getting stuck with the court-appointed ones."

"I hear they're awful."

"Usually not so hot," she agrees, shrugging at him. "Mom stayed on here. She made partner when I was four."

"Wow. Took some time."

"It was a smaller firm back then. They worked harder, longer, to stay afloat I think. But you know what? I don't remember a single time in my life that I needed my mom and she wasn't there. She was always there."

Castle's hand slides from her hip to her ribs, palm so broad that his fingertips are practically at her spine. "Temptation Lane."

She laughs. "Like that. Watching Temptation Lane curled up on the couch together. But if I was sick or she had to work on a Saturday, she'd bring me up here with her. I usually had a book to read, but still Mom would spend a lot of time answering my curious questions, telling me about the law, about the case she was working on. This is where I learned to love. . .justice."

Castle steps in closer, presses a kiss to her forehead, a soft sigh on his lips. She sees him struggle to find a way to keep them both upbeat, and she's grateful for it. She also wishes he didn't have to. But his humor - his coping mechanism - comes in handy.

He trails a kiss down her nose, leans back to look at her. "What about your dad? How'd he like it as Mr Mom for four years?"

She flashes him a grin. "Oh no. My dad worked. He was a lawyer too, Castle. You think I'm a workaholic, should've seen the two of them. They never intended to have kids, actually. I was a mistake."

"Surprise," he says immediately, fingers digging into her hip. "Not a mistake."

She glances up at him, sees the look on his face and remembers. Duh. Alexis.

"Right," she says softly. "A surprise." She pauses to cup his cheek, brush her thumb along the lines of his smile, which grows the more she touches him.

"A really good surprise." He leans down to kiss her, again so soft, delicate, his lips transferring his happiness.

She soaks him in like sunlight.

"Hey," he says suddenly. "We should go up. Check it out."

"Why? It's been remodelled. Nothing looks the same."

"Just to get on that elevator again and go up the seven flights until you can step out onto the same floor your mother worked on. So hard, and for so long. To be back in the same hallways where you first learned the law."

She's struck again by how much sentiment Castle infuses everything with. Because, yes, she holds on to things with meaning - her mother's ring, her father's watch - but he does it in a way that's healthy, and symbolic, and charged with good memories. Whereas she has a tendency to do it with the darkest parts of her past.

"Okay," she says finally. "Let's go up."

* * *

He can tell by her face that it's not the same, and even just walking into the lobby - all glass walls and white furniture - has done something to her. But when she turns to him, she's giving him that gentle, _you're a good man_ smile.

His heart eases to look at it; he brushes his hand up her spine and lets her stand there for a moment, absorbing it. Maybe it's a good thing that the place is so different, that there are two women standing by the desk, talking softly, that it's not the same firm that Johanna Beckett-

"Can I help you?" one of the women says. No receptionist is in sight, just the two of them, but now the other woman is leaving through the front doors. "Are you - are you looking for family court mediation? Divorce lawyer?"

Castle grins and shakes his head. "No. She's stuck with me."

"Not looking to get rid of him," Kate says at the same time, and they turn to look at each other, smirking.

The older woman makes a noise. "Sorry. Was there something I could help you with?"

Kate shakes her head. "Don't worry about us. I just wanted to see the place again. My mother used to work here, about thirteen years ago."

Castle nudges her pinky with his own; she hooks hers around his as she smiles softly over at him.

The older woman tilts her head, and then her mouth drops. "Oh. Johanna. You mean - oh, you're little Katie Beckett."

"She is," Castle beams, reaching past Kate to shake the woman's hand in greeting. "I'm Rick. Did you work here with Johanna?"

"Oh, I did. I'm Margaret Mason; I've been an attorney here for years. Katie, look at how you've grown. Oh, it's so good to see you."

Kate shifts at his side but allows the woman's embrace. "I - should I remember you? I'm sorry."

"Oh no, I'm sure you wouldn't. But your mother would bring you up here. And then, well, after her death, all those moments are given nuances, a sharpness that sticks with a person. You know?"

Kate nods; Castle takes her hand again when she leaves the woman's hug.

"So, what do you do, Katie? Is this your. . .?" Ms. Mason trails off as she glances over at Castle.

"This is her writer," he says with an easy grin. "Kate let me follow her around the 12th Precinct these last few years. I wrote a couple books."

"Oh? Nonfiction or novels?"

"Fiction," Kate interrupts, giving him a strange look. "I was a homicide detective until recently."

"Oh," Ms. Mason sighs. "Because of Johanna. That - oh, Katie. She was such a fervent advocate, so on fire, so passionate. If you brought half of that same zest for life to your work there, then I'm sure you've been an amazing detective."

Kate rocks back; her mouth drops open.

Castle fills the void smoothly. "She's extraordinary."

Ms Mason beams at him, reaches out and squeezes his hand in a familiar, motherly way. "I'm glad she has you. Everyone needs a defender-"

"Partner," Kate says suddenly, her hand around Castle's squeezing so tightly his fingers are losing circulation. "He's my partner. And he's pretty extraordinary himself."

Margaret Mason reaches out and hugs Kate again, pressing a kiss to his partner's cheek, practically clucking over her. "You be good to him, then. I remember your father - Jim - he always had the same lovestruck look on his face around Johanna that your man has here."

Castle lets out a noise of indignation, but chases it with a sigh. No doubt the woman is right. Lovestruck, foolish, helplessly idiotic, a sentimental-

And then Kate hums and presses closer to his side, their hands trapped between them. "Well, if I don't look the same, then it's only because I have a better poker face."

* * *

Vaguely, Castle hears the front door open and slam shut, and then Kate is coming through the study and wriggling her butt down in his chair. She curls up with him, her narrow hips not quite narrow enough to accommodate his, her body sticky and damp with sweat after her run.

But she squirms deeper, her knees drawn up, her hands curled around her ipod, and he grunts as her butt bone digs into his thigh, but he doesn't comment.

"I am seriously perturbed with you," she says on a growl, tugging the earbuds out.

Rick draws his laptop back to him, resting it against the arm of the chair, debating the best way to type. "Perturbed huh?"

"Ticked off."

No, nothing doing. He can't. And he loves her, he really does, but she's seriously throwing off his writing groove.

If she could just-

Oh, whoa, wait a second.

"Ticked off?" Castle lifts an eyebrow at her and balances his laptop for a moment more, then gives it up, puts it on the floor.

She hums, as if in satisfaction, and he realizes what she's got.

"Hey. Is that my phone?"

She grins, gives him a look under her lashes that she _must_ know works. Entirely too well. "Yeah, it is. I think it falls under _What's mine is yours_?"

He huffs. "Don't think so. You gotta marry me first."

She shoots him a hot and also withering look. "Back to why I'm so ticked at you."

"Uh-huh, this should be good. I'm guessing it involves my phone?"

"Yes. This zombie app. Castle, I need another conspiracy like I need a hole in the head."

"Conspiracy?" he laughs, squeezes her hip, sliding his fingers into the waistband of her running shorts. She's not wearing underwear. Oh my-

"These people are paranoid. They think I'm somehow in league with the zombies or with some human faction out to take down their town or something. The runner I was paired up with? She basically threatened my life."

"You do know this is a game, right?" He grins at her and wiggles his fingers against her hip, slides them down a little more.

She's entirely undeterred. "Don't be cute. Their paranoia is catching. I'm running down the path in Central Park and I keep thinking some guy is following me, or that other jogger is staring at me and maybe even shuffling a little, and then I think I'm hearing zombie moans in the middle of your playlist-"

He chuckles into her neck and kisses her softly, licking at the sweat that's drying on her skin. She shivers and her hand comes up to hold his head against her. He hums and trails down her neck.

"Ahh, Castle." He can feel her swallowing against his mouth. "And why - exactly - is Britney Spears on your playlist?"

He pauses. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Britney. 'Womanizer.' Really?"

"I - that's Alexis's?"

"No dice, hot shot. You run to 'Womanizer'?"

He sighs. "It - it gets me going."

She laughs, her fingers around his ear, curling this time instead of tugging. "Oh it does?"

"Not - not like that. It just - arg, Kate," he whines, wanting to go back to where he was being all seductive and clever with his tongue. He slides a hand to her backside, squeezes as he tugs her hips towards his, then kisses the underside of her jaw, blows on her ear.

She shivers. "Your dumb, dumb zombie game. I hate it."

"I think you love it."

"I hate that I love it."

"I can sometimes have that effect," he laughs again, scraping his teeth at her jaw, his body twisted around hers in the chair.

"Oh," she murmurs, her fingers curling at his ear. "I'm gross. I need to shower."

"You taste good to me."

"You just basically proposed, and then you made fun of my PTSD, and now-"

"I did not make fun," he growls back, nudging the top of her shirt with his nose even as his mind goes blank over her casual mention of PTSD. She has PTSD? This is what the therapist has been for? "And I didn't even really propose. Besides you started that one yesterday."

She laughs darkly against the top of his head; he feels her fingers tripping down his spine. "Mm, I kinda did."

"You so did." PTSD. She has. . .oh, she has her fingers in - ah - a really nice place. Farther down, Kate.

She's silent now, so he renews his assault on her running shorts, but the way they're both crammed into the chair makes it impossible for him to get his hands on anything good. More's the pity.

"Do you think maybe I am paranoid?" she says suddenly.

"What?" He startles back to look at her, sensing actual hesitation in her voice, uncertainty. PTSD. She has PTSD and he never knew it. But the sniper case - oh that makes so much more sense.

"I really - I did think someone was following me. And then every single time this stupid game has those zombies chasing me - I have this mini panic attack-"

"Where you put on a burst of speed and you can't breathe too good?" he says, giving her a grin. "I know that. That's just the game, Kate." He doesn't want it to be PTSD; he wants her to be cured. He wants to have cured her. Stupid as that is.

She leans in to him, an arm hooked around his neck. "Okay. It's just the game."

"You're okay?" He wants to ask about the PTSD, but he won't. "You don't have to do the zombie thing, Kate."

She huffs a breath against him and then slides out of his chair. He watches her for a moment, but she reaches out and brushes her hand through his hair. Her smile is tender. "I like the zombie thing. And maybe it's what I need. I did nine miles today."

He laughs at that. "Yeah?"

"Haven't been able to push past eight since. . ."

Since. . .oh, since she was shot.

"Well. Good then. Keep it."

She's already heading out of his study for the shower, and apparently he gets no invitation this time. That's okay; their stop this morning was inspirational for Nikki Heat. He-

"Hey Kate?" he calls.

She comes back through the door, a question in the arch of her eyebrow.

"Thank you."

She tilts her head, giving him a cute little smile. "What for?"

"Showing me your city."

Somehow that brings her straight back to his chair, bending over him, her hands on his cheeks as she guides her mouth down to his. Her kiss is long and slow, thorough, soft; she tastes like adoration and gratitude.

She hovers over his mouth; he feel her smiling. "Castle. I should be thanking you. Making me go upstairs. I never would've gotten to hear that about my mom if you hadn't made me."

He lifts his hand and strokes the loose strand of hair back over her ear, curls his fingers there. He says the only thing he knows how to explain. "I love you, Kate."

"Come shower with me," she murmurs, and he could swear it sounds more like _I love you too._

"Always."

She laughs, gorgeous and rich, and tugs him up and out of the chair.


	13. Thirteen: Friday

**Thirteen**

* * *

This is stupid. She is being stupid.

Kate takes a deep breath and leans back against the bathroom door, the tears trembling down her throat. Oh, damn.

No. _Come on, Kate._

It's just this one, stupid little comment, and if she can just - if she can get past it, bury it somewhere, somewhere where it won't matter quite so much, where she can ignore it-

"Kate."

Shit. His voice on the other side of the door makes her come apart, separates the fragile edges that she's been trying to hold together. Go away, Castle.

She closes her eyes, tight, tilts her head back; she feels naked, so vulnerable in just her underwear.

Lovely, lovely tears, please don't fall.

"Kate, please. Open the door. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot."

_That's true_, her inner voice says, but that's not helping. None of it is. The tears are still fighting dirty to come out, sneaking under her eyelids, and it seems like Kate's the one losing the battle here.

She bites her lip, doesn't let up, even when she tastes metallic blood on her tongue.

If he would just go away, just leave her alone for a minute, it would all be fine. She would gather herself and bottle it all away and really, really, they don't need to talk about this.

"Kate," he pleads, voice soft and so close. She shivers, hates herself for it. "Kate. That was... stupid of me to say. But - I'm gonna do it again, you know. I have plenty of stupid in me, I'm afraid. And you can't - love, you can't just lock yourself away until you've gotten over it."

"Why not," she breathes, and amazingly enough, he hears her.

She hears him sigh and then shift, the slide of his body against the door - he must be sitting on the floor now. She fights the urge to do the same, mirror his position to feel closer to him.

_This bed's seen a lot worse, Kate._

What kind of a *man* says stuff like that?

It all wells up inside her, flares to life, hot and sharp and burning. Shit. Can't he just leave her alone?

"Because you gotta tell me these things. You gotta let me know what I did wrong, Kate. I mean, yeah, so maybe today I get it, but next time? And the time after that?"

She moans, low and miserable, her body curling up at the dreadful prospect evoked by his words.

He lets out a guilty, desolate laugh. "I know. It sounds pretty bad. And I wish I could promise never to hurt you again, Kate, but the truth is. Half the time I don't even think before I speak; I'm bound to hurt you. I... I hate it, but it's how things are. I can't just change everything; I can't remake myself, not even for you. No matter how hard I might want to."

She breathes slowly through her nose, accepts it, accepts the honesty of his apology and the reality of their relationship, of what things have always been like between them.

It works both ways. It can be so good, so very, _very_ good; and it can also - it can also hurt like this. Sting so badly that she can't keep the tears dammed up.

But she can hurt him too, she knows it. She hurts him when she fails to communicate, she hurts him when she dismisses him, shuts him out like...

Like she's doing right now.

Kate chews on her bottom lip, lets go of it with a deep sigh.

"Please, Kate," he murmurs softly, tender, hopeful. "Please let me in."

It goes against her very nature, to open the door to him, let him see her tears, let him see how much he affects her. The extent of the damage. She feels too much; she always has. Like her father.

It's a wonder her mother's death didn't kill them both.

But Castle's right, he's right; it's the only way. The only way they will ever work, the only way to keep it alive, this beautiful thing between them, the rare, precious love that fills her to the brim until she can't cut him off anymore.

She has to give them a chance.

Her fingers curl on the handle and she twists it open.

* * *

There are tracks of tears on her cheeks, glistening in the dim light; his heart stumbles in his throat, feet following awkwardly as he reaches for her, laces his arms around her waist, cradles her so close to his chest.

She sighs, a brittle, heart-breaking thing, but she does settle into his embrace, and oh, better yet, she threads her fingers through his hair, hugs him back like she's absorbing him, taking all his strength into herself.

_Everything, Kate, take everything-_

He kisses what he can find, the soft edges of her hair, the roundness of her ear, the angle of her jaw; he wants to soothe, to heal, to dry the tears he's caused.

He hates it, all of it. Knowing he's responsible for the shivers that shake her lithe body, the warm wetness that transfers to his neck when she presses her mouth to his collarbone - it kills him.

He's so used to her strength, so used to her fierceness. It's bad enough to have her trembling and fragile against him; but that he's made it happen-

He swallows and pushes the guilt away, as best as he can, because his guilt is not going to help her.

"Kate," he murmurs, brushes his lips to her closed eyelid.

It flutters open, a sea of scintillating green looking back at him, and she hums at the back of her throat.

"I'm sorry," he offers, voice raspy with how sincere he is, how regretful. A smile touches her lips, faint but beautiful, and her fingers find his cheek, her index caressing the corner of his eye, slowly, over and over.

"I'm sorry, too," she breathes, and she lifts on tiptoe, the whole length of her splayed against him as she kisses his mouth lightly.

Wait - no - that's not how it's supposed to-

"Kate," he tries to object, a hand curling on her hip to stay her.

But she only smiles wider, tilts her head at him, serene and so in control now. Almost teasing. He has no idea how that just happened.

"Come on, Castle. Wasn't just your fault, was it? Yeah, you made a stupid, smart-ass comment, but you're not the one who hid in the bathroom to cry about it."

How can she sound so light and self-deprecating-

"Castle," she scolds softly, must see the sorrow on his face. Her fingers stroke, his temple, his cheekbone, his mouth; he forgets what he wanted to say.

"Look." She releases a breath through her open mouth, looks at him, all brilliant eyes and long lashes. "It surprised me too, okay? I didn't expect - I didn't think I cared. I know what your life was like before me, and I..." she chews on her lower lip, so adorable, and oh - he just wants to kiss her. "I thought I was okay with it."

Kate.

"Hey, being okay with it doesn't mean you have to sit through my shitty, brainless jokes and not say anything," he points out, relishing the flash of soft amusement in her eyes. "But, Kate, for the record? I didn't mean - I didn't mean it like that."

Wariness dances across her face, and he tries not to let it affect him, because she has reasons not to trust him, reasons to believe he might hurt her. Hell, he just did.

He needs to explain.

"I was just thinking that, when Alexis was little, she used to come into the room on Sunday mornings and we'd have pillow fights - or she would trampoline all over the mattress, because apparently it was much better than hers. Or so she said."

Kate closes her eyes, ducks her head, but something of a laugh, throaty and reluctant, comes through. "Alexis, huh."

Yeahhh. "I could probably have phrased that sentence a little better. A lot better," he admits with a wince, because oh, once it was out of his mouth - he realized what it sounded like.

_The bed's seen a lot worse._

Oh, man. Nice one, Castle.

"It's okay," she says, and there's relief in the smile she gives him, not just forgiveness, not just acceptance. At least she believes him.

"I'm okay," she tells him, and she proves her point with a slow, intent, inflammatory exploration of his mouth that leaves him dazed and desperate for more.

"Should I order a new bed?" he attempts to joke as she backs him slowly into his bedroom, light hands working at his belt, eyes so dark, so dark.

"No need, Castle," she whispers against his jaw, licking his adam's apple. He jerks and whimpers, opens his eyes to find her watching him, pleased and knowing, gorgeous.

"Just make sure I'm the only one in it," she says.


	14. Fourteen: Saturday

**Fourteen**

* * *

_The Avengers_ is her idea; she needs a break from the heavy emotional stuff, so she asks for a pause in their walking tour of New York. When he asks _What're we gonna do now_? with that salacious look on his face, she has to think fast.

Not that she doesn't want to do...salacious, she just wants to be able to walk without wincing for a day or so. Or a few hours at least.

"Hey, I didn't see the Hulk movie," she says as they walk hand in hand towards the theatre. "Is that going to matter?"

"Naw. Those were both terrible movies. As far as the comic-world goes. Edward Norton - yeah, interesting to see a really good actor as the geeky Banner scientist, but-"

She grins at his own geeky knowledge, squeezes his hand. "Thor was pretty terrible too."

He groans. "Seriously? Beckett. That movie was fantastic. I'm gonna have to disagree with you on that one. And I'll also say, categorically, you are entirely not correct."

"Categorically?" she muses, raising an eyebrow at him. "All right then."

"I would've thought you'd be all into that one. I mean, what about the hunky blonde with the huge biceps?"

"I have a hunky - oh, you're not really blonde, are you? Hmm. Still, biceps...mmm, yes you do."

He stumbles to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, shooting her a hot, and _yeah, salacious,_ look that makes her step into him and brand his lips with her mouth.

He's panting when she pulls back; she has to tug on his hand to get him moving.

* * *

It comes out of nowhere, insidious as only it can be.

She's loving _The Avengers_ - Joss Whedon's humor and story-telling always make for a great movie, and she's sucked right into it.

It's not even really a plot point or an action sequence that does her in.

It's just one moment in the destruction of New York City onscreen - the demolished buildings, the explosions, and the running people - like a modern day, terrible King Kong. And her heart is beating fast, her knees drawn up to her chest, feet in the seat, when one small thing - one tiny thing - makes her unravel.

A little family - mom, dad, two kids - running away even as terror rains down around them.

The mom and dad are shoving the two kids ahead of them, trying to push them to safety, but it's impossible. There's no place safe. And the camera has already cut away before she can even seen their demise, the transition back to the battle, but her mind can't let go of that little family.

She can't breathe.

It makes no sense; there's no logic to it.

Her hands are sweating; she sees nothing on the screen any longer. It's a confusing blur that makes her head swim, her stomach churn.

She rocks in the seat, pressing her forehead to her knees, trying to take deep breaths, close her eyes and her ears to the noise.

What happens to the kids? What happens when destruction rains down on them and it's all they can do to just stay ahead of it, and what if they fail? She can barely keep herself moving forward, let alone kids - and he - what can he - if there are kids in the picture, then he's got to look after them and she depends so much on him and she can't do that. She can't do that.

It can't always be her leaning on him. She can't go down that rabbit hole either.

Her throat is closing up; she can't suck in a breath past the thrashing of her heart. She lifts her head and presses the heels of her hands - hard - into her eye sockets.

She needs air. She needs away. She has to get away.

Beckett drops her feet to the floor, sees him swivel his head towards her at the noise.

She makes a fist, tightly, until her fingernails dig into her skin; the pinprick of pain sharpens her for just a moment, clears her throat.

A moment is all she needs.

"Bathroom," she mumbles, and jerks to her feet to shuffle down the row.

* * *

_Damn long bathroom break._

Castle has seen this movie before, but he still hesitates to get up and leave. He wants to go look for her, but he's not sure she'd appreciate that if she really is just - he doesn't even know. Just what? Taking a long bathroom break? Wardrobe malfunction?

Yesterday he made her cry and today he just wants to make her smile. And tapping on the bathroom door, calling out her name, would definitely not make her smile.

He fidgets in his seat, rubbing his thumb over his knee, and debates pulling out his phone to text her. It's so rude though. Castle's the one who is usually making the snide remarks about people on their phones, and he's - he can't do that.

Jeez, the fight scenes are cool. So cool. The Hulk is like - insane. This is just-

A couple days ago, Kate said she thought she was being followed by zombies.

His heart pounds; he rubs his hand over his jaw and tries not to overreact. Zombies do not exist. He did have a moment once, where he really enjoyed getting caught up in the possibility of zombies, but no. No. She is _not_ being followed by zombies.

She is a smart woman though. Tasty brains.

Castle jerks out of his seat, heads down the row, trying to duck a little, keep from ruining the movie for the other patrons. He takes the steps in long strides, then goes back up the ramp towards the doors.

He blinks in the sunlight spilling in from the windows opposite their theatre, then looks around him to get his bearings.

And there's Kate. Sitting on a padded bench, cross-legged, her hands palm up on her knees, her eyes closed.

Serene.

Release meditation. He's not seen her meditate before, but he knows what it looks like. She's letting go of something, releasing it to the universe.

What happened to her?

Castle waits a moment, standing still in the middle of the lobby, watching her breathe slowly in and out, her lashes settled on her cheeks, her mouth closed and her cheekbones sharp. She's pulled her hair back in a bun, a little severe but starkly gorgeous.

Her eyes open. "Castle," she says quietly and turns her head.

He walks towards her, watching her for a sign, but she's completely still, like a reflecting pool. He sits down beside her.

"What happened?" he says, keeping his voice low. He reaches out, his hand hovering over hers on her knee, and then he closes his fingers around hers.

She lets out a long breath. "I had a panic attack."

He waits, not sure how to respond to that, what's acceptable, what she's okay hearing from him.

"I called Dr Burke's office. I've got an appointment for Monday."

"Not today?" he asks, blurting it out before he can think it through. Damn it.

"I'm okay," she says, then gives a soft chuckle and leans in to kiss his cheek. "I'm very okay. Just a little off-balance, I think."

"You were meditating?"

She nods against his skin, then leans her head against his shoulder. He's so astonished by the move that he doesn't know what to do for a second - wrap his arms around her, brush the little tendril of hair off her face, kiss the top of her head?

He does all three then, because he's no good at making a decision about what not to do when it comes to her. She threads her arm through his and then laces their fingers together.

"What triggered the panic attack?" he asks.

"Something in the movie."

"The cops at the scene?"

She shakes her head. "The two kids. With their parents."

He searches his mind but he honestly doesn't have any clue what she's talking about. He doesn't remember any kids in the movie at all.

"They were onscreen for maybe three seconds. Running away from one of those things."

"Oh." Still nothing on his end. Why that random scene?

"I keep making promises to you, Castle, that I can't even - that I want to keep, but I find myself - out in the lobby trying to breathe instead."

He wants to look at her face, her eyes, but she's got her head against his shoulder. It seems to be easier on her to say what she needs to say like this.

"Don't make me promises then. Just-"

She raises their laced fingers to his mouth, silences him. "That's not fair to you. Or to me either. I'll see Dr Burke on Monday and hash it out, figure out what I'm doing wrong."

"Oh, Kate, you're not doing anything wrong." He reaches across his body to cup the side of her face, kiss her forehead, the angle of her cheek.

She smiles against his mouth, kisses him back softly, then says, "I don't mean this. I mean in my head. What I'm doing wrong in my head, Castle."

He sighs, relief and resignation both. He wishes it would all be better magically, that love could truly conquer all. But neither of them are that kind of person. He doesn't want her so dependent on him that she needs him for her own mental health. Not good. No relationship could survive that.

"Care to hash it out with me now?" he says suddenly, stroking his thumb under her cheek.

"Mm, not-" She pauses, knits her eyebrows together. "I guess I can do that. I probably should do that."

"Since you are missing the best part of the movie," he says, smiling down at her.

She shifts on the bench and straightens up. "It was the family. The two kids, the parents. Just the four of them out sight-seeing or on their way to school or something. Who knows why they were there? But there was no way to save those kids. Hopeless."

He watches her, confused by her train of thought. He expected bullets, gunshot wounds, an unconquerable enemy. Instead it's a family?

"How do you save your kids, Castle? How do you keep them ahead of the monster?"

Oh. Oh, shit. This is - slightly out of his depth. He maybe should've let Dr Burke deal with this? He's gonna say the wrong thing. He just opens his mouth and stuff comes out and he has no idea what to say to this.

"You've kept Alexis out of it. How did you do that? My - my kids'll have me, and I've just got all this darkness, and I don't see how-"

He squeezes her roughly, fights to clear his throat and speak before she continues that. "Not true. Not at all true. Stop thinking like that."

She's quiet, but he can sense that she disagrees with him. She's sitting up beside him, still not looking at him though.

And so he's going to open his mouth and say it, he is, he couldn't stop himself if he wanted to.

"Your kids-" Shit, he can't stop himself. "Our kids - they have me too; they have both of us, Kate, and when one of us stumbles, the other picks up and keeps going. Between the two of us, they'll never know darkness. The monsters will never get them."

She's rigid and sitting apart from him; he takes the risk of looking at her and finds that her face is transformed, her eyes filled with something he, unfortunately, now knows is the beginning of tears.

"Kate. Say something."

She turns her head and stares at him, but he doesn't exactly see fear there. Anxiety, sure, but not fear.

"Promise?" she says, her breath hitching on the word.

He wants to say _Always _but she needs more than that, needs so much more than that tired word that's slowly beginning to lose its meaning every time one of them says it off-handedly.

He reaches out and cradles her head in his hands, brings his forehead to hers, tries to seep the knowledge and certainty into her through osmosis, his skin to hers.

"I promise," he says, strength making his voice harsh. "I promise." _Even if we never-_

She wraps her arms around him, and it seems to be enough.


	15. Fifteen: Sunday

**Fifteen**

* * *

The bruises have slowly started to fade; they're now moving from the initial red and angry purple to interesting shades of yellow and green, less noticeable, especially since they're both getting a tan from all the walking.

He gently runs his finger along the edges of the larger one, at the bottom of her spine, then leans over her back to caress the marks with his mouth, soft brushes and sometimes a dart of his tongue.

He still feels guilty for not being there that day. Not being the one who rescued her from that roof.

He's grateful - oh, so grateful - that Ryan was there, but it still sends a sharp jolt of pain through his chest whenever he thinks about it, Kate fighting for her life on that roof without him being there, without him even knowing.

She could have died and he wouldn't-

Kate lets out a breathy moan when he slants the flat of his tongue over her lower back; it brings him back to the here and now, the beauty of her body stretched across his sheets, and he devotes himself to her, to triggering more of those lovely, needing sounds she makes.

Only her, only her, _Kate_-

He forgets about everything else.

* * *

"What do you want to do today?" she asks when he comes out of the bathroom, wearing only jeans, no shirt, gorgeous in the stream of sunlight that pours through the windows.

She can't help stepping into him and tracing the lines of his chest with her fingers, even though she's dressed already, even though her body is sore and loose and she doesn't really want to start another round.

Castle chuckles, a low, soft sound, and he wraps his hand around her fingers, leans in to touch his mouth to her. So gentle.

"What do you want to do, Kate?"

"Hmm." Good question, actually. She doesn't really want to, but- "Maybe I should go back to the apartment, just... Check the mail, water the plants that might or might not have survived the last week. Clear out the contents of my fridge before the tomato starts, you know, breeding with the egg. Or the butter."

She winces at her own image, but Castle grins widely at her. "Sounds like a plan."

She disentangles herself from him, stepping away from all this naked skin - so distracting - and grabs a t-shirt from his open wardrobe, thrusting it against his chest.

"You don't like me half-naked, Beckett?" he asks with a falsely innocent pout.

She gives him an arch look. "I don't do halves very well."

He stares at her for a moment, lips parted, want flaring in his eyes; but in the end he closes his mouth, pulls the t-shirt over his head. Mmm, the ripple of muscle at his stomach - so very lovely.

"Thought you wanted to go to your apartment," he points out when he's done, voice so rough because he's caught her looking - it makes her eyes flutter shut for a split second.

"Yeah," she says, swallowing. "Yeah. I do."

"Then get going, Beckett," he nudges, his hand at her waist.

"You're not coming?" She looks back at him in surprise, but by the time he opens his mouth to answer, she's already realized that this is probably a good idea. "Actually, you're right, yeah. You stay here with Alexis, have lunch with her, and - I can meet up with you guys somewhere. If you want?"

He smiles, that slow, delicate smile he always has whenever she shows interest in his daughter, and he presses his lips to her cheekbone, breathes her in.

"I want," he murmurs.

She's considerably proud of herself for managing to leave his bedroom after that.

* * *

He texts her the address, no explanation, just this one line: _Bring a bikini_. And then he grins to himself like a fool as he imagines her face when she reads it, her pressed lips, the suspicion in her raised brow.

"Dad, did you get your beach towel?"

Alexis is coming down the stairs, the large purple bag that she always takes to the beach thrown over her shoulder; he's shaken out of his Beckett trance, casts a helpless look around him.

Beach towel. Right.

He runs back into his bedroom, catches the indulgent smile of his daughter as he does, and his heart lifts in chest.

Rick Castle is a happy man.

* * *

She spots him from afar, leaning against the building, his tapping foot belying his nonchalant pause; Kate slows down and takes the chance to observe him, fill her eyes with the smooth, steady curve of his calves, the breadth of his chest, the beautiful contrast between the blue of his t-shirt and the golden skin of his forearms.

Hers.

He's hers.

How could she ever think that a name was worth more than this man?

It tangles in her chest, the regret and sorrow and sharp love, and she has to focus, breathe through it, gentle her own heart before she can make the rest of the way to him.

He's wearing black sunglasses, but he takes them off the moment he sees her, eyes crinkling with the grin that lights up his face. "Why, Beckett. How lovely to see you here."

She smiles back even through her eye-roll. "What, you trying to pretend you didn't just text me the address?"

She's paused next to him, at just the right distance that she knows she won't be tempted to do things that might get them both arrested for public indecency; but Castle always breaks all her rules. He wraps a hand around her neck and brings her to him, his warm, smiling mouth welcoming her.

"Hm. Your use of _just _is debatable," he says softly, "but I'll leave that alone for now. Did you follow the instructions?"

He peers at her pink blouse like he's hoping to develop x-ray vision in the next seconds; Kate laughs, pushes back on his chest.

"I have a swimming suit, Castle, if that's your question. Now, you want to tell me why I need one?"

He kisses her again, a short press of his lips to hers, before he straightens up and takes her hand. "See," he says as he leads her up the flight of stairs, "I got a membership for this sports club that I almost never use, and as Alexis cleverly reminded me this morning, today is the last day that I can actually use it. Or, well, I can renew my membership - which I'm probably going to do anyway - but still, you know. It's nice and sunny and the outdoor pools are open, so it's time to get my money's worth."

She smirks at that, follows him inside, blinking a couple times to adjust to the light - much dimmer inside.

Oh. It looks really nice. She probably should have expected it, knowing him, but – wow. The entrance is all dark tiles and high ceiling and soft lights, and a woman comes toward them with a friendly smile, her blonde hair in perfect curls that pique Beckett's jealousy somewhat.

"Mr. Castle, hello," the woman greets them warmly. "And Ms.?"

"Beckett," he says, love shining even in the quick glance he shoots at her. "Kate Beckett. Kate is my guest for today."

"Of course," the woman says. "We're delighted to have you, Kate."

She leads them towards the desk, gives them bracelets that will get them into the spa and _everywhere_, she assures them, with more of the blinding smile that must, Kate thinks, be a little painful.

Castle thanks her profusely and then steers them away, going through a large door made of some dark, gorgeous wood.

"Wow. This place is beautiful," Kate breathes, impressed with the simple yet elegant decoration of the corridor.

"Yeah, it's not too bad," Castle answers dismissively. "And they've got good equipment, too. Here we go," he says, stopping in front of a smaller door with a graceful, feminine silhouette on it. "This is the women's changing room. The men's is right next to it, so I'll, uh, see you on the other side."

He wiggles his eyebrow and she bites her lip, smiles a little. And then she remembers something he said. "Wait, Castle. Where is Alexis? Did she not want to come?"

He looks at her like he wants to devour her, eyes so warm and intense that her whole body tingles from his stare. "She's already inside," he says, his voice too deep, too dark. "She invited a friend too."

Kate smirks, wills herself to walk into the women's changing room. Instead she steps forward, closer, and closer-

"Is that what I am?" she asks with a throaty, suggestive tone. "Your friend?"

She can see his Adam's apple working heavily, and this delicious power ripples through her, makes her take another step.

"Oh, Kate," he murmurs, almost a groan. "Don't make me show you what you are."

_Show you_. His choice of words makes her insides clench, and she breathes through her nose, rides the wave of arousal without acting on it, _don't move, don't move, Kate_. One of them has to be responsible, and she started it. Sort of.

"I'll see you on the other side," she says more gently, moving back without even risking a light kiss to his cheek.

This is a fire that really doesn't need one more spark.

* * *

He watches her hungrily when she steps out of the changing room, pouts a little when he sees she didn't follow his instructions after all. That's no bikini; but it _is_ the long, beautiful line of her body clad in dark scraps of tight fabric, so by the time his eyes have made it back to her face, he is mostly okay with it.

She smiles softly, comes in close and brushes their mouths together. "Didn't want everyone to think you beat your wife," she whispers against his lips like she can read his mind.

It stuns him, shames him, that she thought all this through while he suggested the pool mindlessly, didn't even stop to consider the bruises that still mar her smooth skin. He got carried away by the idea of the pool, and the slides, and – he forgot.

Wait.

"My wife?" he says, can't help his absolute thrill at the word, the laughter and the awe that crowd at his lips. His wife?

"Just the way it would look to people," she shrugs, but there's this self-satisfied glow to her face, like she's chosen the word on purpose. Course she has. "People who don't know us."

People who don't know them. People who don't know them assume they're married?

Oh. Well. It's happened before, actually. He remembers Fallon saying, _I thought you two were…_

Ha. And now they are. Castle cannot help the smug grin that stretches his lips. "I think I like the way it looks to people," he says wolfishly.

Her neck at least is almost healed, only imperceptible traces left of the hands that tried to strangle her, so he strokes his thumb against them, kisses the corner of her mouth, comes back for more…

"Come on," she says with that happy look in her eyes, hands curling around his biceps. "Show me your amazing pool, Castle. I wanna swim."

* * *

He jerks his head out of the water and gasps – very dramatically – for air, his daughter clinging to his shoulders like a monkey, laughing breathlessly in his ear. It was a lot easier to thwart Alexis's attempts at drowning him when she was under 5'7 and was lighter than…

Oh. He has no idea how much his daughter weighs. For some reason it saddens him, and he's left defenceless against her next attack. He goes down, his butt hitting the bottom of the pool, then he kicks it with his feet and emerges again, sputtering.

"Ha. I so got you, Dad. Admit it. You are too old."

He narrows his eyes at his smirking, triumphant daughter, and shakes himself, getting the water out of his hair. "I think the sundeck is waiting for me," he says, pointing a finger at the lounge chairs (he can see Kate from here, and he's pretty sure she's laughing at him). "If you're done trying to kill me, of course."

Alexis tilts her head at him, her blue eyes softening; she unexpectedly comes forward and throws her arms around his waist, hugging. His heart thumps in his chest.

"Thanks, Dad," she says against his chest. "I had fun today."

He winds an arm around her slim shoulders, kissing her forehead before he rests his cheek to the top of her head. "Always, Alexis."

She releases a soft, happy breath and lifts her smile to him, pushes him towards the ladder. Towards Kate.

"Go," she says, eyes sparkling. "I want to swim some more laps, anyway. And then I'll join Mandy in the sauna."

"I love you, Alexis," he blurts out, completely undone by how amazing, how _grown-up _his daughter is. His little girl.

"Love you too, Dad."

And then she's swimming, graceful strokes, skin so clear against the blue of the pool. He watches for a minute, so ridiculously proud, and then he turns to the woman waiting for him.

Kate.


	16. Sixteen: Monday

**Sixteen**

* * *

Castle takes Alexis to Urban Outfitters for dorm stuff; this is entirely her idea, of course. He's got no idea what a college co-ed wants in her room, but she's got it mapped out, department by department. He's trying hard not to feel like a walking credit card.

Kate is at Dr Burke's. Castle is trying not to think about that, using his daughter for distraction. Alexis hooks her arm through his as they step across the parquet floor, dragging him forwards to the bedroom ensembles. He thinks she knows he's trying not to worry about Kate, thinks his daughter is doing this on purpose - entertaining him, keeping up a steady stream of chatter.

He appreciates it.

"Dad, oh, look. I love this." She releases him to run her fingers over a white comforter with huge black zig zags going across it.

"Reminds me of Charlie Brown's shirt."

She wrinkles her nose at him and shoves him away.

"I need a comforter, sheets, curtains - I mean, the dorms have twin beds, so all the stuff for my bed at home won't work-"

"Alexis, you can get whatever you want," he says on a laugh. "Anything. Sky's the limit."

She gives him a look and then tugs the plastic bag containing the black zig zag from the shelf. "Here you go then." She surveys the rest of the store with pleased eyes, her hair aflame and making her look like a Viking conqueror. Were there Viking women?

"Dad?"

He realizes he's staring at her. His little girl turned college-woman-conqueror. "Yeah?"

"Let's spend your money."

She might as well be saying, _Let's pillage._

* * *

Alexis collects posters from the rack, one after another, laughing at the one he picks out for her: _Big Foot is Watching You._ Hers say inspirational things like _Open Your Eyes and See the Beauty._ Nice, but not as fun as he'd choose.

She selects a wooden trash can with more zig-zags along the side, and he quickly realizes they are going to need help. Castle rounds up a store employee who takes stuff to the registers while Alexis still hunts for the perfect accessories.

Then there's the brilliant teal curtains, the mosaic owl candle holder, the New York City skyline rug in teal and black and white, a teal floor lamp, and then a dustless chalkboard with rainbow chalk (he is kinda excited about that one; he wants to sneak into her dorm room while she's away and leave her messages and codes and words of unwisdom).

"Hey, Dad. Reminds you of Kate, huh?"

Alexis is holding up a ceramic baby elephant with a long trunk; she's giving him a little smirk.

"What is that?"

"Oh. A ring holder, I think." She gestures to the table, and there are a host of little items with various pieces of jewelry dangling from them - tree limbs, ornate boxes, swan necks, ballerinas, wrought iron, and elephant trunks.

Wait. Did his daughter. . .

A. . ._ring holder?_

Alexis snags a piece of costume jewelry from the table in front of them, then slides the ring over the elephant's trunk.

His heart is pounding.

"See? Cute huh?" Alexis grins. "I saw all the elephants Kate brought from work. Looks like her."

"She - she likes elephants." Is he reading too much into this? Is she. . .telling him something? No, she's just - she's seen an elephant and Kate's got her parade of them on one of the shelves near the projector screen. The box of stuff she cleaned out from work is at her own place, but those elephants made it to his.

Alexis is only just smiling at him, an easy smile, setting the elephant on the table, giving it a little pat on the head. She doesn't seem to know what she just said.

What idea she's given him.

_For later. Much later._

"Dad," she says suddenly, turning hesitant eyes to him. "We only have this summer, and then I'll be gone. But it helps - it kinda helps a little. To know Kate is here. Is she - do you think she'll stay? I don't want you to be alone and get your heart broken-"

Castle reaches out and tugs her into his arms, kissing the top of her head because he can't get the words out past the choked sensation. He swallows hard, hugs her tighter, and then clears his throat. "Alexis. Even if - whatever happens between me and Kate, I'll be fine. I'll miss you but - this is how life is supposed to go. The kid grows up and leaves the nest. You have to learn to fly, baby bird."

"Dad." She's rolling her eyes at him; he can tell. He can practically hear it.

"You know, Alexis - it feels like the end of your world. I remember thinking the same. But it's not. You can always come home. You know that, right?"

"I know," she says into his embrace, then tilts her head back, pinning him with her brilliant blue eyes. "Will Kate be - home?"

He does her the courtesy of not flinching away from that question. "Alexis. I - if you tell me you don't want Kate there, I-"

"No!" She clutches at him, shaking her head. "Not at all what I meant. I just - I guess I just want to know. One way or another. Because if I leave this fall and then she leaves you too, or you get in a fight and leave her, or - or whatever? I - I don't want that to - it will wreck things."

"Yeah, I'm not planning on that," he says dryly, hugging her tighter. "This is different. Don't you think? And Kate is trying. And with you too, she's trying. Isn't she?"

"She is," Alexis nods, drops her arms from around him to step back, fiddling with the edge of his shirt for a moment, like she used to do when she was little. She seems to recognize what she's doing and she stops, blushing. "She's trying a lot, Dad."

"Yeah," he says quietly, but he feels proud of her. Proud of them both. "She's - she called it putting in the work. And she's doing more than you might know-"

"She told me," Alexis says, then lifts her eyes to him, hesitantly yearning. "She's at her therapist's right now. She told me this morning before she left. That's - that's a big thing, isn't it? That she told me."

He nods, a little stunned. Kate didn't say anything at all about - it took her so long to tell him about her therapy in the first place, and he's surprised she let Alexis know.

His daughter takes another step back, her look growing confident. "So maybe this fall. When I'm at college? Since she'll be around, I'll ask Kate to help me keep you from dropping in on me unannounced."

Alexis gives him an impish smile, all clever and cute.

Rick laughs at her, watching her turn away from the jewelry and head back for bed sheets, proud of her, proud of Kate, able to see how this might all work out okay. On the display table, the little elephant stares at him with that happy, baby smile, all bright eyes and upraised trunk, as if encouraging him to take the chance.

If he gets a ring holder, it needs a ring.

* * *

She stretches, wincing as her shoulders twinge, pads through the living room with bare feet. When she gets back to the couch with her bowl, he's watching her, that delight permanently etched into his face, eyes wide, face transformed by that smile.

It was careful and cautious when she got back from Dr Burke's office at lunch, but she only gave him a smile back and changed the subject. She hasn't been able to unpack everything that happened yet, but she will tell him what she can, when she can.

The bowl is cold against her sternum, reminding her of what she has now.

"Hey," she says, nudging him with her knee to get him to move out of her spot. He doesn't though, just holds out his arms, so she sinks down, practically on top of him. He wraps an arm at her waist, thumb immediately sneaking under the waistband of her leggings, rubbing her skin.

"You missed the best part," he says, even as she leans back and digs her elbow down against his ribs to prop up the bowl.

"I don't think so," she says, smirking at him. "I'm pretty sure you got the best part covered."

He barks out a laugh and his eyes snap to hers, his a suddenly smoked blue that still burns. She darts in to kiss him, two fingers pressed at his chin. He takes the bowl of ice cream away from her and she doesn't even care.

"Wanna make out on the couch?" he says, his mouth already feathering down her neck.

"Yeah, I do. Really, really like that plan."

He laughs again, hot huffs of his breath against her, making her shoulders rise up, squirming into the couch. She sinks backward and feels him come over her, mouth trailing down, taking his time, how he always takes his time with her, and she brings cool hands to his back, skims his shoulders, clutches at the hard ridge of his arms.

He hums into her skin and she gasps, laughing at him, sliding her knee up to give him more room on the couch. She closes her eyes, letting him do what he wants, and then a door clicks upstairs and footsteps-

"Darn," he mutters, pulling her back up. She chuckles at that too, presses her hot cheek to his shoulder as she hears Alexis coming down the stairs.

"Hey guys. I'm going out to Lauren's; we might shop."

Castle shifts against Kate, slides away a little. "We just went shopping."

"But Lauren hasn't gotten any stuff yet." Alexis grins and pushes her phone into her pocket. "Besides, I'm sure I've hung around here long enough today, torturing Kate with all my college plans."

"No. Not torture," Kate sighs, shifting on the couch, her attention divided between what Castle's fingertips are doing to her skin (still) and his daughter's sudden urge to give them space. "You don't have to leave."

"Well, when it gets too quiet down here, that's my cue to go."

Kate laughs and throws Alexis a swift look; the girl has that pursed-lip smile and her eyes are narrowed, but Kate's pretty sure there's no malice to it. Pretty sure.

"We can behave," Kate says, giving her a hesitant smile back.

Castle grunts at her side. "Speak for yourself."

Rolling her eyes at him, she glances back to Alexis, sees the blush but the pleased smile too. They have that in common, she and Alexis. They both like to see him happy.

"Okay, _I_ can behave. And I can make him behave too."

"No, no. Dorm stuff for Lauren; she was jealous over my chalkboard. Then we're probably going to head over to Columbia and see if we can scope out the freshman dorms."

Castle sighs loudly, the sound carrying. "Making plans to leave me already?"

"Yes," Alexis says firmly, smirking at him as she heads for the front door. "Be good. Or - uh, well. Yeah. Never mind."

When the front door slams behind her, key turning in the lock, Kate glances at him, half-smiling at his mock misery. Still, there's a lingering sadness behind it.

She slides her palm against his cheek, softly kisses his pout of a mouth. "Don't worry. I can keep you distracted."

"All year?" he sighs.

"All year. Forever. Either one."

* * *

"Yeah," she sighs, but she can't maintain it. Her lips crack into a smile that she has to hide against the thick rope of his arm around her. "Gotta say, your life _is_ pretty awesome."

He hums and grins back at her, sitting up a little straighter on the couch in his study. They've only managed to go from the living room to his office, too lazy to move very far. "Yesss. It so is. Now especially. I told you that you'd love it."

"I don't think I could do this long-term though." She shrugs at the silent question. "I mean. I don't have a job. What am I supposed to do?"

"Do me," he says.

She smacks his shoulder and glares over at him, but he's entirely unrepentant.

"I could be your job. It's a full-time job, Beckett. I mean, really. Think about how much work I am."

She rolls her eyes, but she's grinning, her body flush and revved up. Jeez, she can't stop with him. It's all the time. He told her _not right now, slow down, take the day to settle,_ and he's right - especially after Dr Burke this morning, but she loves his body. Sigh. She _loves_ his body. "You are pretty high-maintenance," she says drolly, but her heart is pounding.

"I know, right?" He shifts his hips and it sends her canting into him, sprawled at his side as he lowers them down to the couch. He tries to slide his laptop onto the floor, but she reaches out a hand and circles her fingers at his wrist.

"Not-uh. You're supposed to write. We're taking the day to settle, remember?"

"But you are just so much more interesting than Nikki Heat," he sighs, shaking her off and putting it on the floor.

She smirks, her eyebrow raised, but it warms her, the words, no matter how ridiculous they sound when he says them. "Castle, one of us has to keep working."

"Not true, Detec - ah. Huh. Can I still call you that? Cause it's sexy as hell."

"No."

"Come on. Please?"

"I'm not a detective."

"But. But." He sighs, fingers playing with her hair as she rests her chin on his sternum. Then both hands in her hair, curling and tangling, arranging it on her shoulders and back. "But you are still kinda bad-ass."

She huffs a laugh and shakes her head, feels the bone in her chin grinding against him. He winces and she settles her chin on her hands instead, fingers stroking the edges of his ribs.

"You need a bad-ass job then," he says.

"Or just any job." This is part of what she talked about with Burke, and it stresses her out. "I don't have any idea what I'm going to do next. Except-" She pre-empts his next words by putting her hand over his mouth and raising an eyebrow. "Except you, of course. I'm doing you next, for sure."

He grins under her palm, licks her skin.

"Ew. Castle."

"Not like I haven't licked you before. Numerous times. Numerous _places._"

"You do it well," she murmurs, lowering her lashes and watching him as he gasps, palms her cheeks, thumbs on her jaw.

"Beck-ett. Holy - you can't just - we said we'd stay out of the bedroom for the next few hours, but you can_not_ say stuff like that."

"You started it."

"You - you," he groans and his eyes open. He lifts his head and kisses her mouth hard, his tongue searing past her lips and stroking the roof of her mouth.

When he breaks away from her, he's panting a little, his hands still gripping her hair, and he issues a long, breathy sigh. "Okay. Jobs. Let's think."

She grins and turns to lay her cheek against his chest, content to listen to the pound of his heart, actually interested in hearing what he might come up with. Goodness knows, she's got no clue. And Burke told her to do more sharing, told her it lightened the load.

"I could buy you a coffee shop," Castle says suddenly, and the tenderness in his voice has her lifting her head to meet his eyes, stunned.

"Castle."

"I'd buy you all the coffee, all of it. And then you could be in charge. Run the store. Or just - just work there, making coffee, if you wanted-"

"You forget that I suck at making espresso," she says, softly smiling at him. "But thanks."

"Keep it in mind," he murmurs, and tilts his head to slant his lips over hers, gentle and reverent.

She'll keep it in mind. Because at some point, she _will_ have to do something other than him.


	17. Seventeen: Tuesday

**Seventeen**

* * *

"I wish I'd been with you," he can't help saying, stupidly, when she steps into his office after running from zombies, her lean body drenched in sweat, and rotates her shoulder with a wince.

Kate swivels her head to him, surprise in her eyes. "I thought you hated running."

Oh. "Not - not running. I mean," he hesitates, but it's too late to go back now. "I mean on the roof."

Shadows spread across her face; he gets to his feet, his legs protesting from the sudden movement after spending all afternoon holed up in here, trying to write the next chapters for Gina. She's been harassing him, and he's not sure why, because for the first time in a long time, he's not behind.

"Kate," he says, but she's already shaking her head, coming towards him, hands raised as if in prayer.

"No, Castle." Her fingers land on his mouth, stroking delicately, her face so stubborn. "I'm glad you weren't there. So glad. I'm glad I only had myself to worry about. If you'd been with me-" her eyes flicker shut, open again, and he wonders if she's remembering, remembering the man who had his fingers around her throat, who left her dangling from a roof. "If you'd been with me," she finishes, voice raspy with emotion, "maybe we'd both be dead."

He curls his fingers around hers, kisses her palm softly. Salty and warm; untimely arousal flares inside him.

"Maybe we wouldn't," he says to soothe the despair that lingers at the corner of her mouth. "Maybe I'd have kept you from being stupid."

"You tried," she reminds him. "You tried, Castle."

His throat is full; his heart burns. He knows he couldn't have been there - he knows he tried, failed, and then the only thing that made sense was to turn away and let her figure things out by herself. Even if it meant letting her walk to her death. He still feels he did the right thing, not taking that call, and yet, yet-

"Thank god for Ryan," he murmurs, closing his arms on her, drawing her into himself. Thank god, thank god- "God, Kate," he gasps, knowing he needs to stop, take his mind back from that dangerous slope, but unsure how to do it.

It's not guilt; it can't be guilt when she's finally with him, when he's got nothing to blame himself for. It's this deep-seated need to be with her always; it's all those times when they've faced death together, a dirty bomb, a tiger, cold water filling up her car.

And knowing that this time she was on her own.

Partner-less.

Kate shakes him out of his own mind; she winds her arms around his neck, presses herself to him, all of her, so long and lithe and beautiful. Her teeth close on his earlobe, play with the tender flesh until she has him shivering, groaning, and then she whispers, "Come shower with me, Castle."

Yeah. Yeah.

He comes.

* * *

She calls Burke first; she doesn't trust herself with these things.

It seems like a good idea, a meaningful, liberating gesture - and Castle sounds like he needs it too - but she doesn't want to put herself in a position that'd be too much for her.

Like she did with that comment about _next time_. Saying too much, too soon. She wants to be that person; she yearns to be that person, but wanting is not enough.

Gotta put in the work.

"Are you sure you can do this, Kate?" her psychologist asks in his composed, peaceful voice.

She exhales slowly, thinks of that day, how terrible it felt to be hanging from that roof by her fingertips, knowing there was nothing to be done, nothing, that it was all going to end this way.

But it didn't. It didn't, and she got to see Castle again, got to drink from his lips and feel his body surround her, corner her, so warm and so good-

"I think I can," she says quietly.

"Then you should," Burke tells her gently, and she can tell from his voice that he's smiling.

She might be too.

* * *

The flat roof radiates afternoon sun; it burns through the soles of her shoes and heats her body, making sweat run freely.

Castle stands a few feet from her, his chest rising and falling, his face away from her. When they passed the crime scene tape, he got very quiet. When they climbed the stairs, he was already letting go of her hand.

She waits back by the door, watching him absorb it.

"Where?" he scrapes out, and half-turns back to her, not really looking. She can't see his eyes through his sunglasses, but the sound of his voice is telling.

She hesitates at the door, though. Her feet won't take her there, to the edge-

"Just point," he says roughly, and she can practically feel the tension boiling between them across the distance.

"Around back." She points behind her to the far edge, and her heart stutters when he turns and heads for it, a skittering of panic that she can control. She can.

Kate slowly follows him, swallowing past the dryness in her throat. Her skin bakes in the sunlight, the reflected heat, and she lifts a hand to swipe at the moisture pooling at the base of her throat.

Castle is ahead of her, stepping around the steel girders of the sign for the Rosslyn Hotel. She distinctly remembers the rush of eager adrenaline, the thrill of fear as she darted around the corner of the rooftop's maintenance access, following after the sniper.

The trap of the open door, the rusted walls, the metal stairs - her cautious, but not cautious enough, slide forward.

"Here," she says suddenly, stopping still.

Castle turns around.

"We fought here."

He looks at this corner of the roof, his eyes hidden, and she doesn't know if this is a good idea anymore.

"He was - unfazed." She steps carefully to the spot, can almost see her weapon clattering across the roof. Then her eyes lift, trail along the brown line of the railing until she gets to the gap where the edge forms a lip, a buttress of concrete. "There." She nods towards it.

Castle immediately heads for the edge of the roof and her heart pounds; she has to come up behind him, finds her hand reaching out to pluck at the back of his shirt until she can hook her fingers in his waistband.

He turns, a look on his face, both understanding and surprise. But he shuffles farther out and leans over-

"Castle," she grunts, tugging him back, her palms sweating, her body stiff.

But he keeps looking.

"This is where you hung off the roof," he says, his voice curiously even.

She nods, but of course he can't see her. "I tried to lift up but - nothing. All those pull-ups aren't worth a damn after fighting a trained assassin, you know? And then. My right hand slipped-"

He's jerking backwards now, crowding her away from the edge, his arm wrapping around her neck and tucking her into his side as if it's only now hit him. "Kate. Why'd you show me this?"

She tugs far enough away to really look at him, then raises her hands to gently slide the sunglasses up his face so she can see his eyes. She lifts her own shades, nothing between them, and strokes the side of his mouth with two fingers.

"This is where I realized my life was worth more than a doomed war. This is where I chose _you_, Castle. And hoped to God I'd have the chance to let you know."

His arms crush her even as his mouth takes from hers, running roughshod over her lips, his tongue stroking hard, his teeth clashing with hers. She opens to him, receiving him, her body lifting into his, seeking the promises they're making to each other, seeking a way to share all of it, everything.

She works at his kiss, sucking at his bottom lip and scraping her teeth at thin edges of his half-smile. She pushes her tongue past his lips, captures his tongue in triumph and keeps it. He groans into her, his body pitching into hers, and she catches him, cradles him there against her, precious and strong and protective, protected.

He reclaims his tongue with a last nibble at her top lip, his mouth drifting to the side of her nose, a brush of a kiss under her eye, a dusting along her cheekbone. She presses her mouth wherever she can find skin as he travels over her; she curls her fingers under his tshirt and then up, her nails skimming through the sweat at his back.

When she steps closer, her legs straddle his thigh automatically, well-practiced in the movements of their bodies together. He groans out a breath and brings his face away from hers, palms cupping her cheeks, his breathing erratic.

"You chose us," he murmurs, his eyes the swirling and endless ocean.

"Better late than never," she says back softly, but she hears the question in her voice. She apologized that first night, did everything in her power to show him how sorry she was, how much it grieved her to realize she'd let him walk away, but he's never said, one way or another, that she's forgiven.

"I'm so-"

He cuts her off with a tenderness in his lips that makes her eyes fill with tears she won't shed. She gulps them down, and his kiss as well, and he strokes a thumb under one eye, pulls her back into his chest for an embrace that is all the forgiveness she needs.

He draws her away from the edge where she fought for her life - their life, leads her from this corner of roof where she fought for vengeance, her own little war, and then laces his fingers through hers as they make it to the door.

She pauses, her chin lifting as she stops to turn, but he presses his palm to her cheek and stills her.

"No looking back, Kate."

She stares at him, flinches when he reaches out and slides her sunglasses down over her eyes. He leans in and kisses her cheek, puts his own shades back on as well.

"Leave it all out here on the roof. And let's go home."

Kate feels the heat of the sun burn it all away, clear her heart out in a fire of relief that has her pushing up on her toes to let her mouth collide with his once more.

And then they go home.


	18. Eighteen: Wednesday

**Eighteen**

* * *

He studies the line of her calf, the narrow bones of her ankle, the strangely skinny foot. She has oddly-shaped feet. Her toes are too long. Or maybe just the bones too prominent. She curls her toes and her bones pop loudly, making him chuckle.

She glances back at him over her shoulder, a question on her face, and he shakes his head. He's propped up against the headboard, his legs stretched down the bed, and she's lying on her stomach, flipped the other direction as she watches a Yankees game.

She made him set the television up in here so she could stay in bed with him and still watch her team. He thinks it's cute, but he also gets it. The past few days have been heavy, diving into a lot of their combined issues, and staying in bed and watching a baseball game seems easy and frankly necessary at this point.

Helps that she's basically naked. Well, she's got on panties and a tiny camisole thing, but he gets to see a lot of skin, including the wonderfully long, beautifully proportioned legs. Oh, he loves those legs, wrapped around him or tangled with his or running down a sus-

Oh.

Well.

Yeah, okay, so it's a lot different now. He's been thinking about this like an extended vacation, like it's summer for her too, and when August heats up and the trash starts to stink in the streets, she'll go back to work.

But she won't be going back to work, will she? Not unless something drastic happens.

"Yes!" Kate yells suddenly, sitting upright and inadvertently jerking her foot out of his hand as she does so. He glances to the game and sees people on their feet, the replay, oh, a home run.

"What's up?"

She turns her radiant, glorious visage on him, eyes wide with joy, hair dry-curling crazy around her head. "We tied the game. It's a tie!"

He grins back at her because how can he not? Look at her. She's amazing. She's perched on the edge of his bed now, sitting back on her feet, hands clasped under her breasts like she can barely contain herself. She comes up on her knees with every swing of the bat, eager for it, and he's never seen anyone who pours her whole soul into things like Kate does.

Whatever she chooses to be next, whatever she wants to go after, she doesn't need him to hold her hand. She's got this.

She's going to be fine.

* * *

Alexis nudges her and hands over the smoothie. "It's got peaches in it too. That okay?"

"I'm up for it," Kate says back, smiling gently and patting the bed next to her. "You can sit."

Alexis glances over at her father, but Castle's been writing on his laptop for the last hour; he dragged a chair from the study into the bedroom so he could catch (sort of) the last of the baseball game with her.

Alexis made them smoothies for the seventh inning stretch. Even though it's cool inside the loft, they can all tell it's boiling hot out there, and the smoothie goes down Kate's throat like love.

"Oh this is good. What did you put in it?" Kate asks. She thumbs the volume down on the television remote, crosses her legs. She's glad she put on running shorts before heading out into his kitchen earlier; she totally forgot that Alexis would still be here.

"Strawberries, a little bit of vanilla frozen yogurt-"

"Ug, why didn't you use the ice cream?" Castle complains from the chair. Kate and Alexis both swing a gaze at him and he barks out a laugh, staring back at them. "That is uncanny."

Alexis turns to look at Kate and Kate glances back at her, shrugging. "Ignore him. Frozen yogurt is healthier."

"And it's good." Alexis adds, as if she's had this argument many, many times. "I like it. Anyway. Um, oh, blueberries!"

"Oh. That's good."

"And vanilla extract."

"Really?" Kate swirls the straw around in her cup and then lifts a grin to Alexis. "This could be fun. What else can we put in it?"

"Beckett," Castle says stridently. "That is my job. I make up the crazy concoctions."

Alexis wrinkles her nose at him, but Kate narrows her eyes. "I'm not looking to add ketchup and marshmallows, Castle."

He gasps and Alexis giggles. "How did you know?"

"You did _not_," Kate says, eyes widening at him. "Ketchup?"

"It was red," he says defensively.

"So?"

Alexis laughs harder, leaning back against the pillows next to Kate. "He means it was red like blood."

"Gross, Castle."

"It was cool. And then I added grapes-"

"But not in the blender, Kate. He added grapes like eyeballs to all of our drinks-"

"All? How many people were subject to blood-red smoothies?"

Alexis startles, shoots a swift, panicked look to Castle, and Kate gets it. She smirks and catches Castle's eyes, pressing her lips together to see what he says.

"Just Gina," he shrugs, his eyes on hers.

Alexis is as still as stone beside her, and Kate doesn't know how to reassure her without confessing a lot of intimate stuff. So humor it is.

"No wonder your marriage broke up. You put ketchup in my smoothies, Castle, and you're on thin ice."

Alexis chokes on her laughter, her eyes swiveling back to Kate's, and then Kate realizes exactly how that sounded, what position she's inadvertently put herself.

"Oh," she murmurs.

Castle laughs. "Uh-huh. Oh. And you know, it's a testament to your commitment, Kate, that ketchup in your smoothies would only incur a little wrath and not a full-out divorce."

"I worked too hard to get you," she says, her mouth running away with her. "No way I'm gonna let a little ketchup come between us."

His eyes shift to that amused, unhelpful arousal that sends an answering hum through her, her very bones vibrating with it.

"I think we can forego the ketchup," Alexis says with a little laugh. "How about chocolate syrup instead?"

"Coffee grounds," Castle says quickly, his eyes still burning into her. "Put coffee grounds in the next batch of smoothies."

Kate's heart fills at all he says and doesn't say, all it means between them.

"I love coffee," she responds.

"I know."


	19. Nineteen: Thursday

**Nineteen**

* * *

They go out for ice-cream in the heat of the late afternoon; the weather feels more like July than May, too heavy, the warm air sticking to Kate's skin. Castle is looking for an ice-cream truck that is apparently heaven on earth - _so many flavors, Kate, and most of them you never even thought could exist._

It doesn't exactly make her confident.

Their fingers are loosely intertwined, hands rocking between them as they walk; she cranes her neck to inspect the sky, the clouds that have started to flock together over their heads.

"Castle, I think it's going to rain."

He glances up, dismisses her words with a nonchalant smile. "Nah. The sky looked like that earlier. And the weather channel said the storm would only be tonight."

"If the weather channel said so," she mutters teasingly, rolling her eyes.

He tugs on her hand, eyes narrowed against her sarcasm. "Don't make fun of the weather channel, Kate Beckett."

"The weather channel gets it right about as often as Gates smiles," she points out, inwardly laughing at him and his antics.

"I don't think I've ever seen her smile," he observes thoughtfully.

Kate grins at him, arches an eloquent eyebrow. "Exactly."

He pouts at her, but just then music reaches them, a simple, repetitive tune that sounds like something from a children's cartoon. Castle's eyes light up as he turns towards the sound, leads them both around the corner.

"Ohhh, we found it, Kate!"

He sounds excited and happy, so very cute; she bites her lip to keep the smile in. Which becomes impossible once she sees the name of the truck. _Big Gay Ice Cream. _Really, Castle?

He looks back at her then, must catch the amusement on her face, because he lifts his eyebrows at her.

"Don't judge a book by its cover," he warns her, but he can't hold the scold - the bright joy is already piercing through.

She lifts up on tiptoe to land a kiss wherever she can - mm, she loves the corner of his mouth, the rough stubble that he hasn't bothered to shave - and murmurs in his ear, "Don't worry, Castle. I already knew you were metrosexual."

* * *

He goes for the Salty Pimp ice cream, just to see Kate's face - well, the combination of dulce de leche, sea salt and chocolate dip doesn't hurt either. He teases her for choosing the safest flavor - coffee - but then she adds cherry with a pointed look to him, mouth curving into a shadow of a smile.

He kisses her, feels her shiver from the cold ice-cream that lingers on his tongue.

When he backs away, Kate looks soft and tender, so beautiful he could weep just from looking at her. He's never been a huge fan of art - he likes going to museums, looking at the paintings, but he's never understood how people could just stand there and stare at a Botticelli for hours.

Until he met Kate.

"What're you thinking?" she asks when she's gotten her own ice-cream, and they're wandering aimlessly through the streets, shoulders brushing.

"How beautiful you are," he answers without thinking, captivated by the way her tongue swirls around the ice cream. She has a particular way of eating it; she first applies the flat of her tongue to it, takes one long lick, and then lets her lips finish the job, close over the ice cream in a sensual movement that is very much like a kiss.

She chuckles in surprise at his comment and turns her eyes to him; in the late afternoon light, they seem to have golden flecks in them. Her lips curl into a smile around the ice-cream.

"Sap," she says.

He shrugs, doesn't attempt to deny the obvious. "Doesn't make it any less true."

Kate keeps smiling at him but says nothing more, watching him with that wide-open love that is better than any words.

A drop of water crashes on her ice-cream. They're looking at each other, and the cone is between them; neither of them could miss it.

Kate's eyes widen and she looks up, just as the deep rumble of thunder resounds and the sky opens up above them. The rain is brutal, a curtain so thick that they can hardly see anything.

They're drenched in seconds.

"Castle," Kate gasps, and she grabs his hand, tugs him after her as she starts running.

Running to where?

Their ice-cream is ruined anyway; he was almost done with his, but he feels sorry for Kate (and even more sorry for himself, since it means he won't get to watch her eat it).

He ditches the rest of his cone in a bin, squeezes his fingers around Kate's to get her to stop, throw away her own cone. She gives it a mournful look, but there's nothing to be done: the ice-cream is already dripping all over her wrist.

He can't help himself; he takes her hand and licks it slowly, sucks all the ice-cream he can find, mixed with a healthy dose of rain. When he finishes Kate is on her toes against him; her eyes are dark under her lashes, her hair clinging to her neck.

He kisses her slowly, like it's the first time, their lips finding each other easily before he ventures his tongue out, relishes the way her mouth opens for him.

"Castle," she laughs into his neck, throaty and breathless, when they part. "We gotta find shelter somewhere."

"Why?" he asks. They probably can't get any wetter than this, and the sky is already clearing. He has a feeling that by the time they'd find a place with a roof, the rain would have stopped anyway.

So he just keeps kissing Kate Beckett in the rain; and although it feels a little like one of those cheap, romantic movies, the reality of her cold hands under his shirt and her teeth nipping at his lip is far better than any film he's ever seen.


	20. Twenty: Friday

**Twenty**

* * *

He jerks violently awake, the taste of blood as he sucks in a breath, hands slick with it, the smell of cordite, heart pounding madly at the lingering vision. _Shot dead, shot dead, sho-_

"Arg, Castle," she moans, then lets out a huffy sigh. "No. Castle woke up and totally messed up my nail."

What?

He rolls over to find Kate on her phone in bed, painting her toe nails. She glances over at him and _sticks out her tongue_, and then laughs at something said on the other end, her smile wide and unaffected.

Not dead. And not cordite - fingernail polish. Totally separate things.

He flops onto his back and presses a hand to his face. He's had that dream - oh, off and on for the last year - but he didn't expect it to come back.

Apparently he's got his own issues to deal with about that day she was shot.

He rolls back over and onto his stomach, nuzzling Kate's thigh. She's got one knee up and her chin propped on her knee as she paints her toenails some kind of periwinkle. That's the name of it, right? Blue with some faint traces of grey and purple. It's pretty. Entirely too pretty for Beckett.

He grins and noses the back of her thigh, brings his fingers up to wrap around her ankle. In retaliation, she presses her leg outward and against the side of his face, pushing him down int the mattress.

He laughs at that, turns his head to brush a kiss across her skin as she releases him.

"Who you talking to?" he asks, propping his head up on his elbow.

_Lanie, _she mouths.

He lifts up on his forearm and calls out over her shoulder. "Hi, Lanie!"

She elbows him away but she's laughing, rolling her eyes at him. "You're messing up my fingernail polish, Castle. No, Lanie, apparently having sex with him does _not_ make him any less annoying."

He grins even wider, ridiculously delighted with that statement, and with all the good things it says. Where to start? Lanie knows; Kate doesn't mind her knowing; Kate probably _told_ her in the first place; Kate still thinks he's annoying and she can laugh about it; she doesn't think anything too fundamental has shifted in their relationship so she's not scared or running or-

Yeah, okay, he's over-analyzing, but this is _good._

"Ka-ate," he whines, sliding a palm up her thigh to her knee where she's propped her chin up again, grazing his finger along her cheek as she tries to get the last of her toes painted.

"Castle," she says, her voice apparently trying for steady, but completely failing.

He didn't wake up exactly in the mood for sex, but now - well, now he wants to see if he can make her hang up on Lanie for it.

"Kaaaate," he calls again, ditching the whine in favor of soft and seductive. She flicks an eye at him, and he sees the flush climbing her face. He slides his palm back down her raised thigh, lets his fingers slip easily inside the leg of her shorts and to the crease where her hip flares.

He spreads his fingers and she jerks, her chest meeting her thigh and trapping his fingers there.

"Lanie. Gonna have to call you back later." And she tosses her phone to the bedside table and turns to him.

How long did that take?

Her mouth is on his before he can even begin to calculate.

* * *

Kate lifts her foot and peers past Castle's sprawled body to her toes. Sigh. She can see from here that the last two are completely smudged and-

His mouth brushes her breast and she presses her hand against him, stilling him. "No, no. Not right now. You're gonna kill me."

He laughs against her and her body curls in around him, entirely without her say, and he laughs again, entirely too pleased with himself. How in the world will she ever keep his ego in check now?

"How's Lanie?" he murmurs, rolling them both onto their sides. She gives up on her toes.

"Most likely equal parts grossed out and ecstatic, after that."

He grins and his mouth moves lazily to her cheek, a wet trail to her jaw, then back up to her ear. She shivers and palms his neck, squeezing. He feels so good. It all feels so good.

"I love the way you taste."

Oh jeez. Whew. Castle. So not helping.

His palm slides down her side, fingers gripping her hip.

"I think you can do it," he murmurs at her neck, his lips sucking at her collarbones. "One more, Kate."

Her heart pounds and she realizes he's shifted back over her. "Okay," she breathes.

"Just okay?" He licks at the sweat already shimmering along her neck and she arches against him, his hips flush with hers.

"Stop talking," she mutters, drawing her knee up, hooking her calf around his thigh. "Stop talking or I'm going to make you regret it."

"Ooh, make me regret it."


	21. TwentyOne: Saturday

**Twenty-One**

* * *

He's reading in bed; a couple of pillows prop him up, the gentle light of the lamp spilling over the pages of the book that rests against his knees.

_The Time Traveler's Wife_. It was Kate who recommended it, told him it was one of the best love stories she'd ever read. _Unusual and beautiful, _she said. He's heard of the book before, of course, but he's never really wanted to read it until now.

And although he's only a hundred pages in, he can already see what she means. He loves everything: the idea of involuntary time travel, the clear, distinct voices of the two characters, the humor that permeates every page.

Kate forgot to tell him how funny it is.

He's completely absorbed in the Christmas Eve dinner as Henry meets Clare's family for the first time when he feels a subtle change in the atmosphere, the tingling sensation of a gaze resting on him.

He tears his eyes away from the printed words, meets Kate's almost immediately. She's standing in the door frame, tall and slender, wearing the shorts and tank top combination that he loves, that makes her legs seem infinite. Her face is pensive, her eyes dark and soulful.

"What?" he asks curiously, vaguely uncomfortable at being scrutinized. He's suddenly aware that he's wearing a ragged old t-shirt, that he didn't have time to shave this morning, that all in all he must not look all that appealing right now.

"Kate?" he prompts when she stays silent, lost in her contemplation.

She blinks, slowly comes out of it, returning to him with a light smile. He holds out a hand for her and she comes, folds these long, gorgeous legs as she kneels on the bed next to him.

"Hey," she murmurs, leaning in to press her lips against his cheek.

His eyes flutter shut, the sensation so good, the tenderness of it all making his insides flip. He's still not completely used to doing everyday things with her; he gets ridiculous kicks out of mundane actions like brushing their teeth together, like her painting her nails next to him.

Yeah. He's so the girl in this relationship.

"Everything okay?" he asks quietly when she lingers, her nose brushing his, her breath so close and warm and good.

She will never stop surprising him; he would never have guessed that sharp, brisk Detective Beckett could take her time like this, savor the moment in a way that makes his heart squirm in his chest.

But of course, she's not Detective Beckett now. She's Kate.

His Kate.

"Uh-huh," she whispers, forehead resting to his temple. "I like you like this. In bed. Normal day. Reading the book that I recommended."

"Yeah?" Too bad, because his interest for the book just went way, way down. He flips it closed and puts it away somewhere, not really looking, his free hand threading through her hair, palming her neck, _wanting_.

"Yeah," she sighs, eyelids sliding shut, mouth already parted for his kiss.

Okay, so maybe he won't always be the girl after all. And that is completely fine with him.

They can take turns.

* * *

When he wakes up, she's gone.

Gone.

The bed is cold.

Castle sits up as cold panic flares, his anxiety heightened by the dream he just had (in which she went back to the 12th precinct and got shot on the very same day). He throws the covers off and gets to his feet, calls softly. "Kate?"

There's no revealing ray of light under the bathroom door; he turns away, tries to breathe, steps into his study. Empty.

He shuffles into the living room.

"Kate?"

Everything is dark, silent, unmoving.

He considers looking for her upstairs, but he can't see a reason why she would be there, and he might wake Alexis. He doesn't want Alexis awake.

Castle groans and presses the heels of his hands to his eyelids, hard enough that he sees stars, hard enough that his world will tilt back into place.

Maybe she left him a note?

He heads back for the kitchen, runs his hand over the counter, over the table: nothing. He turns to the coffee table. Bathed in moonlight and bare.

His heart is in his throat; it makes it hard to swallow.

Oh, bedroom he didn't look closely at her pillow or the bedside table-

He hurries back into his study, slamming his shoulder into the side of the door, biting his lip fiercely to keep himself from yelping in pain. He moves forward anyway, sinks to his bed; his feverish, searching hands flip the pillow, explore eagerly.

His eyes have adjusted long ago to the lack of light and they see too much, too clearly. There's no point in feeling for the bedside table when he can tell from where he is that there's nothing on it.

This is where he is, sagged on the bed with his hands in fists, tears gathering at the back of his eyes, when he hears the main door close softly.

His head jerks up; he's on his feet before he's even aware of it, racing back to the living room. He comes to a complete stop when he sees her, his body melting with relief as he takes in the way she's dressed, soaked white shirt with the sports bra underneath, the shorts.

Kate.

Running. She went _running_.

He steps forward because he can't help it, his arms closing around her even as she murmurs a surprised "Castle? he clutches her to his chest. She's hot and sweaty and she probably hates it, but he can't for god's sake, Kate-

"Kate," he pants, knows she must feel the crazy staccato of his heartbeat. Still, he won't step back, won't let go.

She's stiff at first, rigid against him, but she gradually softens, until her fingers come brushing at the back of his neck, curl there, an unvoiced question.

"I woke up I woke up, and you were gone," he explains breathlessly, although he shouldn't, he shouldn't, he should keep it all inside.

He can't.

"Castle," she sighs, lips hovering at his jaw now. "I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep, so I thought I would go for a run."

"At 4 am?" he moans against her temple, hates himself for it. "Running alone in New York in the middle of the night, Kate?"

"Shhh," she soothes, mouth dancing over his cheek. "I stayed on the big avenues, Castle. With all the lights, all the people I didn't go into the parks, no dark alleys, okay? I stayed safe."

_Safe_. A desperate laugh chokes him, but he lets this go, lets it go because it's not really why he still wants to cry like a little boy.

Her fingers are making gentle circles over the expanse of his back, calming, lulling him; he doesn't want to be calmed.

"Kate."

"I'm sorry," she says softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. "I thought you'd still be asleep when I came back. You're such a good sleeper, Castle."

Shit, shit. The tear slowly detaches itself from his eyelashes, travels down the plane of his cheek; Kate sees it, of course, gathers it with her index finger, desolation in her eyes.

He wills the others to stay put.

"Rick," she breathes, sorrowful, as she regards him.

"Just. Just leave me a note next time, yeah?" He suddenly realizes how tightly he's holding her, loosens his fingers, hoping he hasn't hurt her almost-healed ribs. "Kate. Just a note. I woke up and you weren't there-"

He stops himself just in time, stops himself before he can tell her what he thought, what he was terrified of, but she already knows. She lifts on tiptoe and presses her mouth to his, firm and promise-filled, her fingers twined at his neck.

"No, no, Castle, no-"

"I know," he murmurs back against her lips, "I know it was stupid, stupid, but Kate-"

"I'm not leaving you," she tells him, so strong, beautiful in her fierceness. "I'm never leaving you. I love you, Castle, I love you-" and then she's kissing him again, repeating the words with her tongue, her lips, the edge of her teeth, her thumb at his cheekbone.

He drinks from her, dazed, humbled, overwhelmed.

Kate Beckett loves him.


	22. TwentyTwo: Sunday

**Twenty-Two**

* * *

"A run would help," he murmurs.

"Castle," she growls and curls up tighter, away from him. "I did that yesterday and look what happened."

He laughs, like an ass, and presses a kiss to her shoulder. "Make-up sex was great-"

"We will not be having sex, so get that out of your head."

"Not even a little?"

She hedges, wavering. Maybe later? In the shower, oh, yeah, actually, in his hot, steaming shower. "Just let me - I don't have to get up and force myself into work, and I have the worst cramps right now, so can you just get out of my bed and go somewhere? Leave me alone."

He's still curled up at her back, and he slides his hand over her hip and presses his palm tight against her abdomen. He kisses her shoulder, the pressure of his hand actually, crazy enough, _helping_, and then he disappears.

"Call if you want anything," he says from the doorway.

She sighs and closes her eyes to sleep.

* * *

She doesn't even know what she said, does she? Get out of _her_ bed. He kind of loves that, and it makes him have this silly, stupid grin on his face as he makes breakfast. Of course, it could be the way she enveloped him yesterday morning, smothered him in _I love you_ after she got back from her run.

Any of that really. She's great. She's really great and she's made his vocabulary narrow down to this idiotic _she's great_ and he can't even think of anything past that.

He gives her an hour to sleep, then brings breakfast in to her. In her bed apparently. Hers. He is completely willing to cede her the bed.

He sets the tray on the nightstand and sits down at her hip, brushing the back of his hand over her stomach. Her lashes flutter; she's curled tightly on her side, cheek to her palm, and then she stirs awake.

"Rick."

Whoa. Wow. Just - he's going to have to get control of _that_ reaction if just her half-asleep voice can do that to him. With his given name. That's probably it. Reminds him of-

Yeah, okay, don't go there right now.

"I made breakfast. If you want it. And I brought the heating pad."

She darts a hand out for the heating pad, pulls it from the tray with a sigh. "You're a smart man, Richard Castle." She curls around the heating pad and her hand comes out to circle his wrist. Then her eyes drag open. "Wait. How did you know - and seriously, I should go for a run? It _helps_? Who told you that?"

He freezes. "Uh."

"Castle."

"I asked Alexis." Her eyes flash and he fumbles to correct that misconception. "Years ago. Years and years. Not today. Oh no, not today."

Her eyes track his, something speculative. "Years and years? Exactly how old was Alexis when you had this conversation?"

"Uh. Maybe a little too young." He winces and rubs at his jaw. "Maybe she was twelve. But she went to my mother first, and I was - I'm the cool dad!"

Kate gives him a warm and indulgent smile, then shifts her body to curl around him instead, the heating pad between them pressing at his thigh. "You're the _good_ dad, Castle. But twelve?"

"I probably shouldn't say much more, her privacy and all, but-"

She presses her mouth to his kneecap. "Probably not. But she told you that running and heating pads helped?"

"Yeah."

"What else?" she murmurs, her eyes closing again.

"Chocolate."

"That's a good one."

He brushes his fingers along her arm, haphazard, no real plan; he just likes to touch her. "That's about it."

"Alexis is right, but Lanie says I'm crazy."

He huffs a laugh and glances at her face; her eyes are still closed. Breakfast is growing cold, but he can heat it up for her if he has to. This conversation is about as intimate as he thinks he's ever had with her, at least outside of bed.

Well, okay, technically they are in bed. But-

"Lanie can't move when she gets hers; she's got no energy. She says I'm crazy to run."

"You are crazy to run," he grins back. "But at least you stopped running."

She opens her eyes and looks at him, something tender there that he likes, that makes his heart beat faster in response to her. She lifts her arm and reaches for him, fingers in his shirt to tug him down to her.

Her kiss is sweet, all surface tension, skimming his lips and breathing against his mouth.

When she pauses, her fingers playing in his hair, he opens his eyes and sees hers are closed; he can feel her humming.

"Kate?"

"Hm?"

"Did you just tell me what Lanie-"

"Oh no. Shh. Don't tell her. And I won't tell Alexis."

He laughs softly at that. "Deal."

Her fingers tangle with his and she tugs on him. "Lie down with me."

"I thought you kicked me out."

"You were being annoying. But now you're being sweet."

He grins and lies down behind her, wraps his arm low around her stomach, the heating pad between them so he can press it against her. She melts back against him on a sigh. He softly kisses the side of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, and she wriggles him off.

"Stick with sweet, Castle. Not seducing."

"The seducing was working though, wasn't it?"

She squeezes his hand in hers, but-

Yeah. It was so totally working.


	23. TwentyThree: Monday

**Twenty-Three**

* * *

That morning, when she steps out of the bedroom, she goes straight to the door, opens it after a glance through the peephole, stoops down to pick up the newspaper.

She had the weirdest dream. She dreamt that she was at the hairdresser, but she wasn't there to have her hair cut - in the dream the woman who owned the salon had shown her where to put her stuff, and then had asked her to start by washing the grey curls of an old lady who was already seated.

Hairdressing was never Kate Beckett's dream, not even when she was a little girl - she considered being a school teacher for a while, a princess of course, and a lawyer like Mom, but never a hair stylist.

Obviously, her jobless state must be bothering her more than she thought.

Kate locks the door carefully and comes back into the kitchen, sets the paper on the table as she goes to make coffee.

Some things come first.

She watches the dark liquid drip into the lower part of the coffee maker and leans against the counter in Castle's kitchen, pondering her life.

She's still surprisingly okay about not having a job, about not going into the 12th every day, not knowing what comes next. And she's usually such a sucker for control, for _knowing_, that she honestly wonders if she's only _pretending_ to be okay. Hiding from herself.

Burke says she needs to stop over-thinking things.

Kate sighs, pours herself a cup of coffee, letting out a low moan when the smell envelops her, dark and rich and delicious. Castle's coffee is, she must admit, far superior to the one she keeps at her flat. Obscenely superior.

She loves it.

She tries a sip and burns her tongue, of course, so she sets the cup on the table and sinks down into the chair, grabbing the _New York Times_ as she does.

But she doesn't open it immediately; for a while she just plays with the pages, her mind going back to that moment she shared with Castle at the precinct. _What did little Kate Beckett want to be when she grew up?_

_At Stanford I was pre-law, _she told him, but really, there's a lot more to the story. And yes, being the first female Chief Justice was a dream of hers, at the time, but she's not sure-

Ah, what does it matter?

Back then, she had meant to follow in her mother's footsteps. Before...everything.

Now? She'll never be a lawyer. Working as a detective has spoiled that for her. She doesn't want to see the other side of things; she wants to keep some illusions about what she might have accomplished as a cop.

She doesn't need to be shown how pointless it all was, how criminals walk and innocents are convicted just because one smooth guy has argued better than another.

No. The law is no longer an option.

Kate lets out a long sigh and takes a sip of hot, delicious coffee, her eyes wandering over the headlines, stopping at the journalists' names. Journalism, for some reason, was never something that appealed to her.

She used to love literature classes, and she rather enjoyed the few writing assignments she'd been given at the time (something she does _not _intend for Castle to _ever_ find out about); but writing articles, providing people with nicely-wrapped information-

No. It's not her calling.

Kate suddenly finds herself thinking about Rook; she wonders whether Castle ever considered going into journalism, if it was a dream of sorts that he realized through the reporter's character. Huh. Funny, that she never thought before-

Her reflection is interrupted by the appearance of Richard Castle himself; he yawns widely, shuffles towards the kitchen in soft pajama pants and a deep blue t-shirt, rubs his sleep-rumpled face.

Cute.

He stops by the table and plants a sloppy kiss on her cheek; she catches his chin between two fingers before he can move away, staying him so she can brush their lips together, linger there for a second, do it right.

He hums, a hazy, drugged-up smile filling his face. "Morning," he sighs happily.

"Morning," she smirks back, letting him go.

She turns back to the paper, but to be honest, her interest is quickly waning. She doesn't know what to look for; she feels unequal to the task she's set for herself, feels like she's looking for a needle in a haystack.

And she's got no idea what the needle looks like.

"Ohhh, coffee," Castle exclaims somewhere behind her, sounding like Christmas and his birthday have somehow collided into a new sort of wonder.

Kate presses her lips around her smile, and gets to her feet stealthily. He's pouring himself a cup already, so much concentration in his stance, from his shoulders to his toes; she moves forward and slowly winds her arms around his waist, pressing her lips to his neck.

Castle shivers but doesn't falter; he sets down the coffee pot and his left hand comes over his smaller one, curls there, his thumb stroking lightly.

"Trying to make me spill," he murmurs, and she can hear the smile in his voice, the slow, dawning awareness. "Evil, Beckett."

She presses herself against him, smothers her grin into his shoulder. "But you didn't," she says.

He grunts, cranes his neck over his shoulder to look at her. His eyes are this deep, beautiful blue, twinkling.

"You're up early," she says to fill up the silence, surprised at the joy that spills in her heart when he regards her like this.

He snorts, twists into her embrace until he's facing her. His lips feather her forehead, the bridge of her nose. "Whose fault is that?" he breathes against her mouth.

"Not-uh, Castle," she replies playfully. "No shifting the blame. I'm not responsible for your getting out of bed."

"But you _are _responsible for luring me out of it," he answers, that wolfish curl to his lips, an eyebrow raised. She schools her features, tries not to look pleased; but it escapes anyway.

Castle turns to grab his cup from the counter, gives her that smug look he always has when he thinks he's so clever.

"I never could resist the smell of good coffee," he concludes, and damn him, she laughs.

* * *

She decides to go for a run after breakfast and he stares at her a little wistfully as she walks out the door, almost tempted to join her just because he wants to contemplate the smooth expanse of her legs a little longer.

But no, no.

_Running is a solo sport,_ she said, and he really is a terrible runner; she would hate him after ten minutes, would be pondering ways to break up with him after fifteen.

He'll stay.

Castle goes back to the kitchen, picks up the remnants of their breakfast, a glass of orange juice, a butter-covered knife. The paper is on the table too, has been pushed to the side. He comes back for it after he's washed everything else, sinks into the couch with it, and notices that a page has been earmarked.

She probably didn't do it consciously.

His stomach flips when he realizes that it's the page where jobs and positions are advertised. They've discussed this, and of course he _knows _that she quit, is relieved that she seems to be okay with it, but-

It's still weird.

He cannot imagine Kate Beckett working anywhere else than in the 12th precinct. He has no doubt she'll be great at whatever she sets her mind to; it's not about that.

She's just...so _good _at it. At being a detective. She's smart and strong and caring, and yes, she might have landed at the 12th by accident - she might have never intended to get there, might have been lead there by her mother's death - but she _belongs _there.

He can feel it down to his bones.

Doesn't matter what he feels, though. He's not going to make this about himself; it's about Kate, all about her. He'll support her no matter what, if she finds her way back to the precinct, if she doesn't - so long as he has her, she can do whatever she wants.

Maybe she needs to try her hand at other things in order to realize what being a cop means to her. Castle smirks. _Try her hand at other things. _Oh, and now he knows where he's taking her today.

* * *

They wait until the end of the afternoon to go out, until the burning heat has subsided into that sun-filled, lovely warmth that makes Kate want to curl and purr like a cat. She slides her hand inside Castle's, relishes the soft skin of his palm.

It's a good day.

She doesn't even try to make him talk, seduce him into sharing their destination; she's content to just walk at his side and enjoy the bright, animated afternoon. There are a lot of people shuffling around, tourists with their maps and hats and glasses, men in suits coming out of work, a woman with a baby in a sling, that same guy in the baseball hat again. On a normal day - a precinct day - she might be annoyed by this, might want to move faster than the crowd allows.

But today she's fine with letting the ebb and flow of people guide their pace.

Castle leads her into a less populated street; the tall buildings provide the sidewalk with cool, delicious shade, but the sunlight catches in their top windows, shimmers like drops of water trapped in a spiderweb.

"We're almost there," he says, and Kate looks back to find him smiling, that quiet happiness that she loves so much radiating in his eyes.

She lifts their joined hands and brushes her lips to the back of his fingers, lingers for a second.

When she looks up, his eyes are dark and intense. He's stopped walking.

"Kate," he whispers.

She smiles, can't resist it, all this joy and beauty coiling tight in her chest; she leans into him and kisses his neck, the underside of his jaw.

"Come on, Castle," she nudges. "Show me this place of yours."

He sighs heavily against her. "And then we'll go back?" he murmurs, his voice rough.

Kate grins. "And then we'll go back."

* * *

The theater hasn't changed much; it's eerily similar to Castle's memories. Good, good. Makes him feel a little less old. How long has it been since he last came here?

He leads Kate through the door and into the lobby, breathing in the familiar scent, old wood and stage make-up and the perfumes of all the well-dressed ladies who attended last night's performance.

He remembers his eagerness as a young man, how he used to think that two eyes weren't enough to watch and memorize all of it, the colors and the voices and the accents, the gorgeous jewels and the stunning dresses, the drama.

They're stopped by a young woman who has just finished changing the posters; she has her blonde hair in a pony tail, is wearing the black and white clothes that must still be the ushers' uniforms.

She smiles brightly at them. "Tonight's performance isn't for another two hours, but would you like to buy tickets? We have a couple left, although tomorrow might be a better choice, because the seats tonight-"

"Actually," Castle says with a smile, "We're not here for the play. I used to work here in the eighties, as an usher, and I was wondering if we could possibly have a look inside? Just, you know. A little trip down memory lane."

"Oh, um..." the woman presses her lips together, glances undecidedly at the door. She seems willing to help though. "There's a dress rehearsal going on right now," she says, giving them a knowing little smile, "but I suppose if I just open the door for a minute, you can step in, have a look, and come back out?"

"That would be perfect." Castle beams at her. When he looks at Kate, her eyes are bright with interest, her lips parted as she crowds at his back while the woman opens the door.

Stage lights are on in the theatre, and the audience is shrouded in darkness; they don't have to worry about anyone seeing them. He steps in, Kate's hand in his, inhaling and exhaling slowly to appreciate the peculiar atmosphere.

On stage, a thirty-something actor is delivering his lines confidently, his deep, beautiful voice echoing against the old walls, caressing the dark wood, the velvet of the seats. Kate swirls towards him, her face tilted up, looking enchanted.

"You worked here?" she whispers.

He steps closer, puts his hands on her waist; the kid who worked here, who still lives inside him, can't quite believe his luck.

"When I was about fifteen, only for one summer. Mother was acting in a play called _Nunsense_; I remember, because at the time I thought it was a pretty clever pun."

Kate laughs softly, winds an arm around his neck.

"So you were the cute usher showing the ladies their seats, huh? I bet you must have gotten pretty large tips."

She's so beautiful.

"Believe it or not, I was uh, rather shy at the time. But some of the women were pretty generous, I must say."

Kate's lips quirk, but then her eyes grow more serious.

"Did you ever think of following in your mother's footsteps? Being an actor, working in the theatre?"

Mm, good question, Kate. "Well, I gave it a shot, of course. It quickly became obvious that my acting abilities were somewhat - limited - and to be honest, although I loved that world, it was always...my mother's. Not mine."

She nods slowly, understanding suffusing her face. "You wanted to find your own thing. Make your own way."

He smiles, as mesmerized as ever by her wonderful mind. "Yeah."

And then he leans in, presses his lips to hers, firm and gentle. She's warm against him.

"And so will you, Kate," he whispers against her mouth. "You will find your own way."


	24. TwentyFour: Tuesday

**Twenty-Four**

* * *

Kate finds her own way.

Castle gives her a funny look, but she hands him his leather bag and waits for him to pack. Her stuff is already by the front door of his loft, and she was careful to keep him from seeing it before she could explain he was coming with her.

She's finding her own way.

He pulls a pair of jeans from the dresser, giving her a quick look to which she nods, and then he dumps them in the bag as well. A few dress shirts - he still wears them, she's noticed, even though neither of them are going in to work, and she doesn't mind one bit because he looks deliciously crisp in those dress shirts.

He's in another one of his goofy tshirts, (something about _In Case of Zombies_, with airplane-safety-card directions) but the green makes his eyes look like the Gulf. A little intoxicating.

Kate stops being patient and helps him out, throwing boxers into his bag, the ratty sandals he wears all the time as they walk around the city, the book on his bedside table.

Castle gives her a look, _hands off_, it says, and she presses her lips together, trying not to smile. "Hurry, maybe, then."

He huffs and turns his back on her, a show of independence, and she does smile then, waits him out.

He gathers a few more shirts, a pair of slacks - where exactly does he expect to go? out? Oh, maybe that's a good idea. They should. Roaming the city has been fun, and pretty heavy too, at times, and they should just-

"We should go on a date," she says, the words tripping out of her mouth before she can stop them.

He turns, his eyebrows raised, genuine surprise flitting across his face. "Yeah. We should."

"When?"

"Friday?"

"You gonna come pick me up?"

"You not gonna be here?"

She shrugs, but yes. She's not going to be here. She's finding her way in this, and part of that is making sure she's truly not using their relationship as an excuse to not think about what she's done. A place to hide, like he once accused her of doing.

"Kate. You're not going to be here Friday?"

"Here? No. Why do you think you're packing a bag, Castle?"

He startles, his hands stilling as he looks down at his leather duffle, and then he glances back up at her with a flush of chagrin. "Ah. Okay. Got it."

She tilts her head at him, a smile tugging at her lips. "Where did you think we were going?"

"I don't know. I really had no idea. But. Okay, well, let me get my laptop and the charger for my phone and-"

She sighs; this is taking too long and she wants to go. She already asked Alexis yesterday evening, talking to the girl quietly at the top of the stairs, trying not to look too hopeful and force his daughter into anything. She shrugged off Kate's concern but she didn't throw open her arms and embrace her father's partner either.

Maybe she should tell him this has his daughter's seal of approval? "Alexis said she didn't mind if you. . .came home with me."

He gives her a little half-smile, lips curling as he shoves his phone charger and laptop power cord into the bag. "Yeah? You talked to my daughter."

She nods. "Maybe I should've asked you before I had you pack, but - Castle?"

"Hm?"

"You want to come home with me?"

* * *

In deference to the time of the month, it's still mostly just messing around (_you wanna fool around?)_, but doing it on her couch with her windows open to the broad daylight is exhilarating. Like they're being watched. In fact, he's getting that vibe pretty strongly, and it's strange and a little weird, but the idea of sliding his hand up her inside thigh, drawing his tongue down her neck _here_, in the same room where he told her, hopelessly, that he loved her and she was driving him crazy and he just didn't want her to die-

Maybe that's all it is. The foreboding painting on her wall and the dust motes drifting through the sunbeams and her hot hands under his tshirt and dragging across his abs, and she's not dead and she's here.

Castle pants against her cheek as she touches him, slips his fingers into the back of her jeans, tugs her closer. She's straddling him, hair in a long curtain around them, enclosing them like a confessional, and he uses the rocking momentum of her hips to shove his hands in her back pockets and squeeze.

She laughs at his mouth, her laughter falling apart into a moan, and he feels her sharp breaths against him. He swallows them up, laves her lower lip with his tongue, sucks at the corner of her mouth.

He lets it go a little wild, lets himself forget where they are and the time of day and month, lets himself lose a little of his being into the dark and swirling depths of mutual need.

And then he gentles his mouth, strokes her sides with his palms, firmly, until she lowers back down on his lap, taking deeper breaths, and his heartbeat begins to climb down.

He cradles her face and kisses her, not exactly chaste but definitely less tongue. She sighs and sinks down against him, momentary respite, before she slides off his lap and stands, holding her hand out to him.

"I like your apartment," he says, coming up and following her into the kitchen.

She says nothing to that, but she does go to open the fridge, and she startles when, evidently, she sees what he's left in there for her.

"You brought your coffee," she breathes, spinning around to grin at him.

"Yeah. I'm partial to the good stuff," he says, a little shrug but unapologetic.

She lets the door shut behind her and wraps both arms around his neck, diving in for a kiss. "You have excellent taste."

He touches his lips to hers again, soft, wet, brushing. "I certainly do."

"Why wait until Friday?" she murmurs. "Go out with me now. I've got nothing to eat here."

"Let's keep Friday special," he says back. "Instead, we go grocery shopping, make dinner here."

"Invite Alexis over?" she asks, giving him a hopeful little look. Because she's trying. She's working at all the pieces, wanting them to fit. He can see it written all over her face.

"Yeah. We'll invite Alexis."

"We," she whispers.

"Getting sappy, Beckett?"

She shakes her head. "Just - pleasantly surprised."

He grips her by the elbows, hanging on tightly. "There was always a 'we' - even before this, always _us._ Even if you didn't want there to be."

"Did I ever say that?"

He gives her a look.

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "Did I ever say that recently?"

He thinks back, can't pinpoint a time in. . .well, actually, years. She's turned her back, been silent, kicked him out, run away, but she's never point blank told him they had nothing.

At least not since that first year.

"Well then," he says, and somehow the Beckett of that first year - brash and young and strident - gets overlaid this Beckett - Kate and strong and beautiful. And the differences are shocking. She's aged - matured is a better way to say it - but the bone-deep grace and self-assuredness, her beauty and reserve and intelligence have only been magnified.

And it's not just because he's in love with her.

He clears his throat; she's watching him, waiting for the rest of his statement. Before he got distracted by her, he was going to say something profound.

He grins. "Well then, get ready to be pleasantly surprised all over the place."

She laughs, startling and bright and amused with him, and then he realizes how that sounds, but he can't exactly take it back because, _yeah that too._

"You want to do a little bit of pleasantly surprising me before we get groceries?" she hums, her hands drawing down from his neck to his lower back. She found some kind of pressure point earlier in the month, some kind of erotic zone he didn't exactly know about, and her fingertips working over him at just that right amount of pressure, sweeping up and around in circles, has his hips rising to meet hers.

"I'd like nothing better," he says finally and lowers his mouth to the open skin at her chest, sucking until she gasps.

* * *

It's good with him here, even if he does keep picking up her things and laying them down just a little bit off, as if he's trying to replace every object at just the right angle and coordinate, but he can't quite get it right.

If she wasn't a detective, maybe she would never notice. But it's everything in the apartment; he's put his hands on everything.

When she goes to the cabinets for italian seasoning and all the labels are tilted just a fraction off, she sigs and turns on him. "Castle."

He glances up from the spaghetti sauce, surprised at her tone most likely. "What?"

She realizes a split second before it's going to come out of her mouth that _Stop touching all my stuff_ sounds a whole lot worse than what she really means.

So she doesn't say it. Instead, she hands over the seasoning and shakes her head at him. "If you want to know about anything, just ask me, okay?" Because even her closet was a little off when she unpacked everything, and seriously, what is he looking for among the seasonings or her shoes?

But he can't help himself. He likes to know the whole story; she actually understands this.

"Oh-okay," he says, staring at her. "I don't really have any questions, Kate. I like being here with you. Actually, I love being here with you."

Her shoulders dip with her tension level; she didn't even know she was so stressed about him being here.

But it's good, actually. Maybe this time she can have him help her throw out the box she dumped all her mom's case into. Maybe this week, staying here for a while, maybe she really will figure it all out, how they should be doing this, where they should be doing this.

Finally make a straight path in her wilderness wanderings.

Make her way.


	25. TwentyFive: Wednesday

**Twenty-Five**

* * *

"Still not done?" she asks as she steps into her living-room, cold sweat pooling at her lower back, her breath a little fast still, but almost back to normal.

Castle is spread on her couch, holding _The Time Traveler's Wife, _and she's honestly surprised that he's not finished it already. She's always pictured him as a fast reader - although it's true that they've been together a lot, and obviously it doesn't leave him with much time to read. Hmm. Her bad.

She undoes her ponytail as she waits for his answer, grimaces when wet hair brushes against her neck. Ugh, she needs clean clothes. And a shower._  
_

He finally looks up at her, completely distracted, and he seems rather unhappy. "Huh?"

Kate smirks, and takes off her t-shirt, knowing _that_ should capture his attention. Mm, also, the air is so much cooler in her apartment, because she's shut the blinds. It feels heavenly on her bare skin.

Castle stares at her sports bra, arousal flickering in his eyes, but to her surprise it's short-lived, too quickly replaced with grief.

Grief?

"Castle. What's wrong?" she says, voice soft as she moves towards him, squats down in front of the couch so their faces are level.

"Nothing." He shakes his head, eyelids fluttering, and wow, _wow. _He - is he trying not to cry?

He closes the book sharply and puts it away, setting it on the coffee table with a brisk hand. "It's all your fault," he says, turning back to her. She sees with a sigh of relief that his eyes are dry, clearer now. "Your fault for making me read this stupid book."

Oh. _Oh._ Really?

She bites her lip, acutely aware that if she smiled now, he would probably feel insulted. Hurt. And besides, _The Time Traveler's Wife_ got to her too.

"Where are you at?" she asks softly.

Castle looks away, his face so thoroughly depressed that she cannot help reaching out, running her fingers over his neck. Shit, okay, maybe if she'd known-

"I'm - where," he sighs, blue eyes searching for hers. "His feet."

Oh. Yes. He doesn't need to say more. Kate pushes herself up, slides on the couch next to him, trying to ignore the discomfort of her sweaty thighs against the soft, beige leather.

"Come here," she says, carefully maneuvering him into her arms. He sinks into her embrace gratefully, his lips resting at her ear; his hands hover at her back like he doesn't dare touch her.

He knows she doesn't like to be touched when she's all sweaty and gross. Sweet man.

"Kate," he breathes mournfully.

Oh, come on. Enough now.

"It's just a book, Castle," she points out, because she feels someone ought to. A very good book, but-

"A _very good_ book," he says somewhat defensively, and she wants to laugh. Great minds, right?

She kisses his cheek softly, lets him feel her smile. "You gonna get over it any time soon?"

He lets out a long exhale, warm breath that caresses her bare skin down to her belly button, ripples over her body. _Oh_.

"Maybe," he says, thinking. Or pretending to. "Maybe it would help if you let me shower with you," he finishes in that very innocent voice of his.

She does let the laugh out this time, is surprised at how breathless she sounds. "Oh, yeah?"

She moves back a little and yep, there it is, that sly, boyish look in his eyes. At least he no longer looks like someone just died.

"Well," he says with more of that mock thoughtfulness, "seeing as you're the one who made me read the book anyway..."

"Quit while you're ahead, Castle," she advises with a smile. "I don't do well with blackmail."

He parts his lips, closes them, nods eagerly.

Shower it is, then.

* * *

"Oof," he hears her breathe out when they're finally dressed again, standing in her bathroom with the last of the steam quickly dissipating around them.

Castle finishes rubbing his hair dry, turns his eyes to her as he hangs the towel. She's leaning against the wall right next to the door, her head thrown back, her eyes closed.

Boneless. That's how he would describe the way she looks right now, if he were writing this scene.

He's not going to pretend he doesn't like it; instead he moves to her side, careful to give her space, and he brushes his lips to the exposed, gorgeous line of her jaw.

"Tired?"

"Hm, yeah," she sighs, her voice a little rough, sleep-filled. "Wow. I don't know, it kinda...hit me just now."

She sags into him, her temple finding his shoulder, and he puts an arm around her waist, holds her close. He can't help that twinge of excitement and pleasure in his chest, the childish joy that he always feels when she lets herself need him.

It's... She's beautiful.

"Wanna take a nap?" he asks, and when she groans he suddenly realizes how that sounded. "Not - not that kind of nap, Kate. A real nap. Only sleep involved."

Her lips curl into a smile at his shoulder, but then she's lifting her head off him, hazy eyes meeting his. "Not a big fan of naps," she says. "I never manage to fall asleep. And when I do, I wake up even more tired than I was."

"Do you think you can get any more tired than you are now?"

A reluctant, throaty laugh tumbles off her lips; some liveliness returns to her eyes. "Good point," she admits. "But no, Castle. I'll be fine. I just need to shake it off."

"Want some food?" he suggests, fingers brushing her hip.

She closes her eyes, shivers, and just that - just the fact that she lets him see that - it fills him with so much goddamn _gratitude. _"Food," she repeats, as if tasting the word itself. "Yeah, actually. Food sounds very good." Her eyes open again, fix on him, relaxed and twinkling. "You offering to make me food, Castle?"

"I might be," he smiles, leans in for a quick press of his lips to hers. "I am. And you, Kate Beckett, get to sink down into that couch of yours and watch me."

"Ohh," she says, that carefully modulated amusement in her voice that makes him want to kiss her again. "Lucky me. That sounds hot."

He grins, decides that it's okay to wiggle his eyebrows at her. For old times' sake.

"You have no idea."

* * *

"You are pretty cute in my apron," she says, smirking at him over the kitchen island. Yeah, cute isn't quite it, but something.

"I was going for hot."

"Um, not quite," she laughs, taking the plate from him. "But thanks for trying."

He shoots her a look and turns around to put the pan back on the stovetop, flips the heat off, unties the apron. She grabs forks from the drawer, cradles her plate as she heads for the table. "I got us forks."

"You have any white wine?"

"Um, yeah, in the fridge - bottle already open." Been a few weeks sitting there, but it should be okay.

She sets her plate down, forks, comes back for his plate already dished up on the island. She glances at him, absorbing the way his arms move as he pours the wine, the breadth of his shoulders, the familiarity. It's still disconcerting to have him here, if she's honest with herself, but she likes it.

It's strange but it's good. He fits well.

She's just setting his plate down when he reaches past her to place their glasses on the table, dropping a kiss to her cheek as he does. His hands slide along her hips as he moves to his place, again with that odd comfortableness that she likes, but which still surprises her.

When she sits down, he's giving her a look, and his eyes are remote, like he's seeing her but not seeing her at the same time.

"Castle?"

He swallows his mouthful and his fork trails along his plate as he watches her. "When I first met you, I thought you were so young."

She laughs at that; should she be insulted? "And I'm not young now?"

"No," he sighs, then panic flashes across his face and he chokes. "I'm not - that's not - I meant-"

"Don't worry. Between the two of us, I'm not the one over forty, am I?"

His eyes narrow, but he's back with her now, seeing her. "That was mean."

She grins at the smile she can see flirting on his face; he's trying so hard not to let it show. "You started it."

"What I _meant_ was," he starts slowly. "You were like a kid. No, wait. Not a kid. You were just _young_, Kate. You had this whole tragedy around you, that you'd survived, but you were still just starting out."

"I'd only been a detective for a few years."

"You were good. You are good." He sighs and tilts his head, stubbing his fork into his chicken.

"What about you?" she says softly, wondering where this is going, why it's come up now.

"I _thought_ I was young. I had no idea."

"You were young," she defends, and then she realizes it sounds like she means he's not young anymore and well-

He lifts an eyebrow at her and their eyes meet over the table. Okay, yeah, she understands what he means now.

"I was playing at it, playing at life I mean. I wish I'd met you when I was in my twenties."

She grins. "I'd have been twelve or so-"

"Okay, all right," he interrupts, putting his hand up to stop her. "So that's gross. Thank you for that mental image. I just meant-"

"I got it," she laughs, nudging his leg with her bare foot, sliding her toes along his calf.

He huffs. "What about when _you_ were twenty? I wish I'd been there then. That would've-"

"I wouldn't have been any good for you," she says, shaking her head at him. "I was messed up. We're good now, so why are you so sad about this? What about fate and the universe, Castle?"

He's staring back at her with such wistful yearning. "I just - I wish I hadn't wasted so much time. I wish we had more time."

She chews thoughtfully on her lip for a moment, watching him, trying to figure out what to say to that. It's the damn book, isn't it? Time travel. Henry getting the chance to see Clare at all the points of her life, their truly lifelong romance. And they've had - what? - four years, with most of those spent on different sides of the table.

"What do you think this walking tour of the city is about, Castle?" She rubs her toes down his shin, getting his attention. "We're catching up on all that time."

His mouth lifts in the corners, a faint smile. "Yeah?"

"And it wasn't a waste. What did I tell you earlier?"

His face blanks. "You've told me a lot of things."

She grins, reaches across the table to hook her fingers around his, tugging. "Gotta put in the work, Castle. That takes time."

He laces their fingers together, his smile more sure, definite. "Then it's time well spent."


	26. TwentySix: Thursday

**Twenty-Six**

* * *

"Remy's?" he asks, giving her a look. But she's just coy and clever as she watches him, holding open the door for him.

Castle sighs and goes inside. He's kinda hungry anyway.

Kate comes up behind him, brushes his side with hers, fingers tangling. He's. . .surprised, to be honest. Surprised she's so public with it. Not that she hasn't held his hand on the street or in the theatre or walking down the sidewalk, but this is Remy's. This is a shared space, a place where their friends go, other cops-

"Beckett!" And there's Ryan hustling towards them, a beaming look on his face as he hugs Kate, then slaps Castle on the back. "Castle, man. You guys look good. What're you doing here?"

"This place off-limits now?" Kate answers, an eyebrow arched that makes Ryan stammer and backpedal. But Kate presses her lips together, meets Castle's eyes, and then laughs at Kevin. "Kidding. We're doing a thing, walking around the city together. You guys taking a lunch break?"

Ryan turns back to the main counter and grabs the to-go bags, juggling everything. "Yeah, actually, it sucks without you guys. I'm partnerless, without a team, and I'm the one who gets stuck with the lunch runs."

Castle glances to Kate and sees a flicker of remorse across her face, but he can't tell about what. She reaches out and squeezes Ryan's forearm. "Hey, Kevin. I should've - I'm sorry."

He shrugs at her and his face is that easy-going and open Ryan; no harm, no foul. "No apology needed, Beckett."

"Esposito talk to you yet?"

Ryan gives an uncomfortable look away, glances once to Castle, then shakes his head. "Naw. It's okay though. He's suspended too, but he's not sticking around the city. Did Lanie tell you?"

"Lanie?" Castle asks, intrigued by what seems to be a switch in topic. "What does Lanie have to do with Esposito anymore?"

"Well, more now I guess?" Ryan grins at them. "Lanie is taking the next two weeks off - the whole department is talking about it - and she's going on vacation to Puerto Rico-"

"With Javi?" Kate says, her incredulousness making her voice rise. She gives a swift look to Castle, then back to Ryan. "That's - awesome. I'm so calling Lanie. She didn't tell me that."

"Oh man, maybe I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, no," Castle interrupts. "This is stuff you share."

"What about this?" Ryan says, nodding his head at them, juggling the bags again. "This stuff you share?"

Castle doesn't know what to say. But before he can even think what might be okay to mention, Kate's grinning and stepping right into the void. "We're together. For good."

_For good._

His chest squeezes and he looks over at her, his palms suddenly tingling, and she's giving him this smug little smile, just the corners of her mouth lifting, and he clutches tighter at her hand.

"Well, good. Good," Ryan says, somewhat dumbly, maybe as stunned as Castle feels. "I'll let you guys. . .I gotta get the food back."

"Wait," Beckett says suddenly, grabbing Ryan's elbow. "You said - Esposito is on suspension. . .too?"

"Yeah, though you knew that."

"I know, I just - I mean. You say that like he's not the only one? Who else got suspended?"

Ryan gives a rough little laugh. "You. I mean. You and Esposito. What're you talking about?"

Castle feels her stumble back, lifts his hand to catch her by the waist, their fingers still tangled together. He glances at her, sees the wash of surprise on her face.

"Ryan. I quit. I cleaned out my desk because I'm not coming back."

He hesitates, and slides a look at Castle. "Yeah. Um. Gates still has you on the duty roster. Inactive because of your suspension, but still."

Castle feels Kate stiffen. "Not going to happen, Ryan. It'd take an act of God to get me back there."

Ryan bobs his head nervously, shoots Castle another look, then makes his excuses and leaves.

Castle, rubs his thumb over the back of her hand as she watches the door shut behind Ryan. "Kate?"

"I'm not going back."

"Okay."

* * *

She's quiet for a few minutes as they sit in the booth and wait for their orders to arrive. She picks at the silverware in the napkin, tries to get her bearings again, reassert some of the ease and sense of purpose she's had for the last three weeks.

Kate made a choice. And it's been taken away from her.

No. Not taken away. It's still a choice, still hers to own. The consequences - for good or ill - are still hers.

She glances up at Castle and sees the wariness in his eyes. It's not on his face; no, his face is still that open and honest Castle. But his eyes are reserved.

He expects her to be unbalanced, to lean back to her old job. She won't though.

It's not up for discussion, either.

"Remy's," she says finally, determined.

He looks surprised for an instant, but masks it to give her a lopsided smile. "I know a lot of Remy's, right?"

"What you don't know is - this is where Roy took me, my first night on as a detective," she says back, bringing her smile back to him.

"Ryan and Esposito?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "Esposito wasn't on my team. Just been transferred from the 54th; he was a little rough around the edges. His partner had just died - oh." She stares at Castle. "Well, he didn't, did he? But of course, Espo didn't know that. So."

"So his partner had just died. But I'd say Esposito is _still_ a little rough around the edges."

She grins at him, her shoulders loosening at just the touch of warmth in Castle's voice, the humor lacing the edges of their conversation. She likes his coping mechanisms much better than hers.

"Hm, yeah. You could be right." She shares a smile with him, his eyes so very blue in the sunlight coming in through the blinds, a connection between them that, if she's honest, she has to admit has been there since the first day.

"Montgomery brought you here," he says softly. "And then-?"

"This was the spot. For everything. Lunch, dinner, a drink after the big cases. Esposito and I were partnered, but neither of us wanted it, so we agreed to do our own thing, mostly. We worked well _not _together, like that, but then Ryan was transferred up to Homicide, so it was three of us - so the two of them partnered instead."

"And how did Esposito go from rough around the edges to partners with Ryan? Seems unlikely."

"I think Ryan just - he's too nice. He's a good cop, a good detective, and he works hard. He knows what's right." More than she does, more than Esposito, who was willing to follow her to their deaths because they're comrade-in-arms, brothers behind the badge. "You think Ryan would be a pushover, but he's not. He has a strong sense of right and wrong."

"I'm glad for that," Castle says in a rush, like he's got to get it in.

Unspoken is _He saved your life_ but it's there, in the air between them.

"I am too," she says finally.

* * *

He watches her as a few others from the 12th come in and out; she's easy enough with them, smiling, taking their jokes and giving her own back. She keeps her foot propped on his bench seat, scandalously tucked up under his thigh. She's wearing sandals that she apparently slipped off sometime during lunch, so he feels her bare toes flex into his hamstring.

Sexy as hell is what it is.

She sips her strawberry milkshake, her cheeks hollowing to get the thick, icy pink concoction into her mouth. She's seriously too beautiful to be out in public like this, too sensual and erotic as she lifts her eyes from the straw and looks at him.

As if she knows what she's doing to him.

Her toes flex and he has to reach under the table and grab her by the ankle in warning; she smiles broadly at him, her tongue comes out to lick at her bottom lip.

He squeezes tighter, lifting an eyebrow at her, and she grins, all feral and wild, and it just goes right to his guts, makes his heart tighten up, makes him want to put his mouth on her, all over-

"Stop looking at me like that, Castle."

"You stop," he hisses back.

"You started it," she murmurs, her eyes dark now, arousal glinting in their depths.

"Tell me another story. Quick. And try not to be so sexy when you do."

She laughs, bites her lip. "Hm. Okay." She huffs out a breath and looks away from him; he sees her cradle the milkshake in a hand, then press it against her neck.

He laughs and she shoots him a deadly look; she _so_ doesn't think it's funny, does she? He grins wider, pleased that he somehow affects her just as much as she affects him.

She waves her hand at him, as if to shoo him away, forcibly drags her eyes back to the sidewalk outside as she thinks. He knows his face is practically split apart with his smile, but all of the sudden her lust is just as encouraging and reassuring as her _For good_ was earlier.

"Okay," she says suddenly. "I got it. A couple years ago, it was after a case. A squatter in an apartment, family came home to find him dead-"

He grins, his chest unfurling with love. "I think I remember that one."

"Oh?" she says innocently. "Should I stop then?"

"No, no," he says hastily. "Finish the story. I'd like to - see it from your perspective."

"Well then. Turns out he was a thief, had a falling out with his partners in crime. My partner-"

Him. That's him she's talking about. Her partner.

"He had a rough day, I think. A little bitty spider freaked him out-"

"It was a _huge_ spider, Beckett. Huge. A tarantula."

"They don't hurt you," she smirks.

"They carry some of the deadliest venom."

"Harmless to human beings, Castle."

"You never know."

"Back to my story?"

He growls at her. "You gonna tell it right, or what?"

"I am telling it right. You keep interrupting."

He waves her on, pretending hurt, but this is awesome. This is really very cool, hearing her talk about how it felt on her side of things. Way back then. Like he gets to visit that moment all over again, their own kind of time travel.

"Anyway," she says sarcastically. "He had a rough day, but he did a good thing-"

He did?

"He made me give a second chance to a guy named Mickey."

Ohhh, that's right. He did that? She did that, really; he was just the annoying one who bugged her about it.

"I wasn't going to vouch for a guy that had been in and out of prison, couldn't seem to set himself straight, repeat offender."

"But you did," he says softly.

"Hm, well, my partner can be pretty persuasive."

Him. She means him.

"And both of us - well, we'd been on a couple of disastrous dates - they were so self-absorbed - and we were starving. We'd run right out of dinner when we figured out what was going on with the smuggling-"

"You looked amazing," he murmurs, can't help it. "But not too amazing, which is good. Since you weren't with me."

She stops, looks stunned that he said that, and then her voice lowers. "You were wearing that velvet jacket, the shiny tie, just like Bachelor Number 9 should be."

"You remember that."

"Seven the year before, Castle. Slipping."

"Ah, you were paying attention? That's nice to know. But I wasn't even ranked after that."

"Well, you weren't a bachelor the year after that, were you?"

"Definitely not now," he says, and keeps his fingers tight around her ankle, making promises, all kinds of promises, all of them. For good.

She watches him for a moment, as if reading his promises and letting herself absorb them. "After all that, we decided to come here."

"You ate a huge burger and fries and had a shake then too, if I remember."

"Yeah. You ate as much as I did. But you jumped ahead, Castle."

"I did?"

She nods. "All I wanted to do was go home. That's all I ever did, back then. But you said - well, I thought you were going to be crude, honestly, but you weren't. You asked me out."

"I-" He flushes at the memory, because yes. Yes, that's what he'd been doing, but he hadn't realized she knew that at the time. "I did. I asked you out."

"And I said yes."

Oh, she said yes. He asked her out and she said yes.

"Was that - was that our first date? Here at Remy's."

"What do you think, Castle?"

His heart is pounding wildly in his chest. "Yeah." He clears his throat. "First date."

She smiles at him, that same smile as two years ago, almost three, slightly shy, but pleased and happy. She bites her lip and then her hand sneaks up to her hair, fingers twirling, and he's struck with it, made breathless and stunned by that simple movement.

"You're flipping your hair," he murmurs.

She looks startled, but gives him another little smile.

"And smiling," he adds, the years rushing back to him with the force of a tsunami, crashing over him.

"So?" she laughs. "I'm happy. We're reclaiming our time, Castle."

He has to fight to breathe, his love chokes him up and makes him want to do stupid, foolish things in the middle of Remy's. Instead, he just squeezes her ankle tighter and brushes his thumb over her ankle bone, over and over and over, mesmerized by her.

"Castle?"

"Yeah. You're right. This was a good idea. And Kate?"

She lifts her eyebrows at him in question.

He takes a long breath in and then he just says it, without anger, without frustration, without desperation or need or trying to prove a point. He just says it because it's true.

"I love you."


	27. TwentySeven: Friday

**Twenty-Seven**

* * *

Kate agonizes in front of her closet for half an hour, curses Castle a good dozen times for refusing to tell her where they're going. What _is _it with surprises that makes everybody love them so much?

And Castle more than everybody else. Of course.

Honestly. Knowing is lovely. Knowing is underrated.

She sighs and shifts her weight to her left foot, shivers when a light breeze comes through the open window, caresses her bare skin. She flicks her eyes to the alarm clock. 6:30. She's been standing there in her underwear for exactly twenty-four minutes.

Enough of this, Kate.

She reaches for a cute, demure little black dress, pulls it over her head. The soft, cool fabric clings to her body as she tugs on it; she turns to the floor-length mirror, inspects herself critically.

She looks good, not over-the-top. The V-neck of the dress shows just the right amount of cleavage, and the straps leave her arms bare, showing off her recently-acquired tan. Her skin glows golden in the shaded space of her bedroom. The dress stops just above her knees.

Kate gnaws at her lip, considers.

This is good. This will work, wherever Castle takes her. It's simple enough that she will not look out of place if he takes her to a small, not-that-fancy restaurant; but it's elegant enough for her to be inconspicuous in a more...expensive place.

Right.

She closes her eyes as she exhales, rubs her fingertips to her eyebrow.

Her problem is, she doesn't want to just look _good_ for her date with him. She wants to be stunning. She wants to be unforgettable.

_Yes._

She lets out a long breath and takes off the dress in one smooth move, turns back to her closet, eyes roaming over-

Oh. There it is.

She grins as she skims her fingers over the shimmery, so-soft fabric.

_Perfect._

* * *

He's nervous. Alexis gives him an eyebrow, and snags the tie he picked out, throws it back on his bed. He's been here before with her, hasn't he?

This time it's different.

"This one," she says softly. "Brings out your eyes."

"That's kinda girly," he snorts at her.

She smiles again, that cute one, the one he's seen since she was two or so, closed-mouthed and perky nose, dimple. She's adorable, always has been, and he's so relieved that she seems okay with this.

He never thought she wouldn't be, really, but then there was that strange thing between Alexis and Kate ever since-

Well, ever since Kate was shot. Yeah. That's messed them all up.

"Dad," Alexis says suddenly. "Sooo Kate isn't moving in?"

He pauses in the middle of tying his tie, cuts his eyes to her. Is that disappointment? Or just disappointment in Kate?

"Kate's not moving in," he says determinedly. "Honestly, Kate should probably get back on her feet before any of that."

"You mean because she doesn't have a job? I think some girls, if they didn't have a job, they'd be good with moving in."

He laughs, startled by Alexis's brutal honesty. "Well. I don't think Kate's that kind of girl. She's not a number on a list." He glances at his daughter to check, and he can see she remembers that conversation.

"So, Kate's no bachelorette number three. Good to know. And you're no sugar daddy, then?"

He snorts at her, fumbles his tie, and Alexis takes it from him. "No sugar daddy. Although I try. I swear, I try. She's not interested in it." He sighs exaggeratedly.

Alexis laughs back, some of that stern daughter mask melting away. "Well, good. Because the girls looking for a sugar daddy aren't good enough for you."

"Kate's not a girl, either, you know."

"Huh," Alexis mutters, finishing his tie. "Okay, I'll give you that one. But Dad. I said it then and it's even more true now. I won't be here forever, and I want you to have someone who will look after you."

"She's more than-" He gestures, not sure what he means really, just. More. She's more.

And maybe Kate's not the kind of woman to exactly look after him, but they can look after each other. Partners.

* * *

He can barely breathe when he knocks on her door; it's not like he hasn't seen her just about all month. But this is their first official date, or well, this is-

Okay, he has no idea what this is, but he wants to give it to her like a gift. He wants to show her his memories of their last four years and honor them just as she did yesterday at Remy's.

She opens the door and his heart stops.

She gives him a curling grin, reaches out for the flowers, gently takes them from his hand. "Hey."

"Hey," he says dumbly, and comes inside as she tugs on his sleeve. "You look - you look-"

She lifts an eyebrow, pulls him just into the kitchen to get a vase for the flowers. Her body is wrapped in blue, Herve Leger if he remembers right, the deep v-neckline that gives him a tantalizing glimpse of her chest, the open back that reveals the creamy expanse of her skin.

And he's touched it. He's put his mouth on the dusting of freckles right between her spine and shoulder blade, he's pressed his lips to the length of her neck, buried his face right there at her scar - which is not exactly on display, but it's not hidden, it's muted and barely noticeable actually, but-

"Castle? You okay there?"

"I'm having trouble breathing," he gasps out, leans back against the kitchen island, putting his hands on his knees, melodramatic.

She laughs and nudges in between his legs, making him stand up straight. As he lifts, his eyes travel up the beautiful column of her body, and he realizes she's done her hair up just like that night too. The night of his first book party.

But instead of their strange fight, their miscommunication and anger, she's smiling at him, her fingers at his jaw, her mouth coming lightly to his.

"Not-uh," he murmurs. "Behave. Date first."

She grins against his mouth, her eyes roll - just a little, and then she's patting his cheek. "Got it. Date first."

He leans in and gives her a quick kiss, then nuzzles her nose with this, just because he can. "I like this dress on you."

"Oh?" She laughs again. "I could kinda tell." _Back then._

He growls at her and kisses her again, then pulls her towards her door. "Date. Let's go before I change my mind."

* * *

She's not sure what she was expecting, but a stop-off for coffee isn't really it. "What are we doing, Castle?"

"Aperitifs, first." He holds open the door to their usual coffee place, or well, his usual. He's the one who always came in for coffee, presented it to her every morning like a-

A kiss. Like a kiss in greeting.

She smiles at him, slides her arm through his. He presses hers into his side and leans over to kiss her cheek. "I like your heels too," he murmurs.

She laughs at that, her eyes nearly level with his. "Mm, I do too."

As they step into line at the coffee shop, she glances around and sees it's completely full. And almost every eye has turned to them. Native New Yorkers can forgive a lot, so they're not that conspicuous, but she still feels like she's on her prom date and going for pancakes at IHOP.

Is Castle going to feel her up in the booth as they order greasy food and make eyes at each other? Hands roaming, side by side, with her constantly checking the time to make sure her parents won't start getting worried. . .

"This is kinda surreal," she laughs, leaning in against his side to speak in his ear. She feels him shiver and smiles, laying her head on his shoulder and sliding her hand into his.

"Why's that?"

"Feels like prom. Special night, kind of magical, and you think you're invincible. Nothing bad could ever happen to you like this, when you're dressed up and on your way to something amazing."

He stares at her for a moment and then presses his mouth hard against hers, missing most of it and getting the corner, her chin, but the intensity makes her heart race.

He pulls back and reaches his free hand up to caress her cheek.

"That's what we're doing. On our way to something amazing."

She smiles, captures his hand to press a soft kiss to his palm. "I think maybe we're already there."

* * *

"So was that enough like prom for you?" he says, brushing his fingers up and down her arm.

She shrugs against him, her head tilted back against his neck. She turns a little and kisses his adam's apple; he feels her lashes flutter shut.

"You're drunk," he laughs. Dinner was slow and delicate and arousing, and he never knew - how could he know? - it would be like this. Comfortable, easy. The two of them fit right into it. "I think you're drunk, Kate."

"No, no. Just pleasantly buzzing." She hums and curls in the seat, her knees coming up. He catches her thigh and squeezes, keeps her close. Her mouth opens against him, but he thinks she's maybe going to fall asleep. That's okay too.

She's just gorgeous in this dress; she's gorgeous all the time, but lately he's seen the sweating after a run, and the hanging out in his tshirt, and the walking around in her bra and jeans as she searches for something to wear. This dressy, formal, lovely creature in the back of his car service, practically draped over him, is the Beckett he knows from a handful of occasions and never ceases to amaze him, but who - somehow - is _his_.

"Hey, Kate?"

"I'm awake," she mutters.

"I have something for you."

"I can tell," she murmurs, eyebrows lifting, a hand sliding down his thigh.

He laughs at that, lets her lazily explore. "Not that. I have something for you at my loft."

"Uh-huh, that's almost word for word what my prom date said too," she sighs, but her mouth comes to his jaw and kisses him, a little sloppy, very sweet.

Castle leans down and finds her lips, brushes across them again and again until she rouses, lifts up a little. When he's sure he has her attention, he slides his fingers along her jawline and his thumb strokes her cheekbone. "Kate. I'll take you home after, but first. You wanna come up for a moment?"

She darts in and kisses him below his eye, leans back to look at him. "Of course."

* * *

He watches her follow him inside, but there's no hesitation, just the slightly shiny look in her eyes. "You have a good time?"

"Yeah," she sighs, giving him a soft smile. It's not tentative, just happy. Like her smile's rather permanent lately and it goes from soft to brilliant with every flux in their relationship.

He takes her purse and tosses it onto the couch. "Stay right here. I promise I'm taking you back home. Don't move."

She tilts her head at him, lets his fingers go as he heads for his study. It takes only a second, because he's had it nestled on his bookshelf, low, almost as if he didn't want to see it, but couldn't let it go. He comes back with it, feels entirely stupid now, no ceremony and no sense of anticipation. He thrusts it out to her.

"Here."

She takes it from him, eyebrows knitting together. "What is this?"

"Just open it," he says, even though - well, she can see what it is, right?

She slides a fingernail into the Russian nesting doll, cracks it open. And then understanding dawns across her face, her eyes lift to his with breathlessness and wonder.

God, she's gorgeous. He can see it all in her eyes.

"These - were on my desk. You bought them. And all those awful-tasting suckers. The case we were working on when I went to your book party-"

"Wearing that dress," he murmurs, grinning a little.

She grins back, steps closer to him. "I made you take them home."

"You were mad at me. For Nikki Heat." He lifts his lips into a crooked smile.

"No," she says softly. "I was mad at you for not - for ditching Nikki in favor of James Bond."

"James Bond? Oh. Oh that's right. Wait," he glances to the Russian dolls, flicks his eyes back to her. "What do you mean, ditching Nikki?"

"Only one book? I was disappointed. I didn't want you to leave." She cradles the Russian nesting dolls against her chest.

"You didn't?" He laughs and shakes his head at her. "I think I remember, very specifically, you being quite ticked off at me when we found out there'd be three more books."

"Well, I wasn't expecting _three_," she says, rolling her eyes at him in the way she has where she doesn't even mean it at all, she's just putting on an act-

Oh. Oh, that's what she was doing then too, putting on an act to hide her real feelings. Oh wow. "This is amazing," he whispers and comes in to kiss her again, reverent, happy. "You're amazing."

She kisses him, the Russian dolls between them, and then backs away, her fingers at his chin to hold him off. "You kept them all this time."

"Yeah."

She studies him for a moment, then steps away, fingers trailing down his arm to clasp his hand. "Take me home, Castle."

* * *

Kate puts the Russian nesting dolls all in a row on her desk, touches each one with a finger. He kept them; he loves her. Even then?

"Kate?"

She turns around and smiles at him, standing a little awkwardly in her living room in his velvet jacket, his bright tie, the beautiful blue of his eyes. "Dinner was perfect," she says, coming back to him, sliding her arms around his waist.

His whole face crinkles, lights up, and he leans in to kiss her mouth, his light and careful.

"I'm not drunk, Castle," she laughs, raising a hand to capture his cheek, stroke along his jaw. "And yeah, I know you want to go home, but first-?"

"You asking me to do the walk of shame tomorrow morning?"

"Or late, late tonight?"

He hums amusement into her mouth and she gasps, her hips coming into his sharply at the vibration. Now he's laughing, his hands holding her steady.

"You're a little-"

"Shut up, Castle, and make love to me."

He laughs again, but its dark and sensuous and his mouth comes down to hers with a forcefulness that matches the building need in her.

"Walk of shame it is," he mutters.


	28. TwentyEight: Saturday

**Twenty-Eight**

* * *

He tiptoes into the loft at exactly 4:23 am, expecting darkness and silence; silence he does get, but he's surprised to find that the light next to the couch is on, even more surprised to find his daughter curled up in an armchair.

"Alexis," he says, his voice echoing strangely in the quiet space. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Hey, Dad," she greets with a tired smile, stretching like a cat as she closes the novel on her lap. "I couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd come down here with a book. You doing the walk of shame? Aren't you a little old for that?"

He narrows his eyes at her as he plops himself down on the couch, toes his shoes off. Ohh, yeah. Feels good. "Watch your words, young lady," he warns teasingly.

Alexis presses her lips together, smile still shining through in a way that reminds him sharply of Kate. Then again, many things remind him of Kate. "You know," his daughter says hesitantly, her voice more careful, "you could have stayed there. I mean, it's not like I don't know what you guys are doing, so..." She gives a little shrug. "It makes no sense for you to wake up in the middle of the night just so you're here in the morning. You don't..._have _to, Dad."

He watches her for a moment, his beautiful daughter, her red hair glowing softly in the gentle light, her eyes a little apprehensive as she studies him back.

"Good to know I have your permission," he finally chooses to say, smirking.

Alexis rolls her eyes, but he thinks she's blushing. "I'm just saying-" she starts, but he cuts her off.

"I know what you're saying, Alexis. And I'm not here because I have to - but because I _want _to." He thinks that his little girl sometimes needs to hear this, even when she looks so grown-up that his chest bursts with pride every time his eyes land on her.

She smiles at him, a cute, cheeky thing that reminds him of the eight-year-old she once was.

"Even if it means leaving Kate alone?"

Ohh, someone's feeling bold tonight. He hikes a foot onto the coffee table, his eyes still on his daughter's, and realizes that he's smiling. Ah, well.

"Especially if it means leaving Kate alone," he answers, more truthfully than maybe the question called for. "She's a pretty independent person, you know. Well, yeah, you _do _know. And she's been...amazing about this. I honestly can't believe the amount of time she's been spending with me. Without complaining. So-" he pauses, tries to find the words. "Even if she's not asking for space? I want to make sure I'm anticipating her needs. That I'm not...putting too much pressure on her."

"You think waking up alone is what she needs?"

He gapes at his daughter, stunned by her reaction, even though he can tell that Alexis isn't trying to upset him, or questioning his decision. She's just - asking.

"I..." Ah, should he even be discussing this? He and Alexis tell each other a lot, but he feels like maybe some aspects of his relationship with Kate should remain...private.

And yes, that too.

"I don't know, Alexis," he finally answers. "Maybe, yes. Gives her time to figure things out by herself."

There's a long silence, and he can tell she's pondering his answer, playing with the long braid that she often wears to bed. He waits on her, content to be sprawled on the couch, a little light-headed but not ready to sleep quite yet.

Which reminds him.

"What's keeping you awake?" he asks softly, nudging his daughter's calf with his foot. She shivers, draws her knees up to her chin as she shifts a little, turns towards him. She half-shrugs, tilts her head.

"Just, you know. Thinking about things."

Alexis's never been very good at evasion. As a father, he's incredibly grateful for that.

"What kind of things?" he pushes.

She worries her lip for a second, but she offers him an honest answer. "Endings and beginnings. I just feel, you know, like I'm in the middle of this...transition space, where high school is over and college hasn't started yet, and I-" she sighs. "I'm not sure what to do with myself."

Castle doesn't say anything, keeps a respectful silence because he can tell there is more to come.

"I feel... adrift," Alexis says with a wistful little smile. "Floating. I really - I really don't like in-betweens, Dad."

He pushes himself off the back of the couch, leans forward with his elbows on his knees until he can lay a reassuring hand on his daughter's leg.

"I know. But try to look at it this way: this is the only time when you don't have to do anything, for anyone else. No essays to write, no homework to do, nothing to prepare for - trust me, once you're in college and your life is a whirlwind of classes and parties and exams, you'll look back to this moment, here and now, when you only had yourself to worry about, and you'll long for it."

Alexis scrunches her nose, clearly not convinced. "I don't know, Dad. I do better when things are expected of me. When I'm told what to do. This just feels...wrong."

He laughs then, can't help it, can't help seeing the parallels between his daughter and Beckett. Kate. Kate who seems to be handling it so well, the brutal shift in her life, the obscene amount of time her resignation has given her.

He wonders.

"Well then," he tells Alexis, "find yourself something to do. Set yourself a goal for the summer, anything. Learn Spanish, or - how to play the guitar, I don't know, write a novel-"

"Right," she snickers disbelievingly, and he splays his palm on her knee, squeezes for her attention.

"I'm serious. This is _your_ time, Alexis. You can do what you want with it. Put it to good use."

She stares at him, and he can see the idea make its slow way through her. Then she sighs, looks away, and he squeezes once more.

"What?"

"I just wish..." she bites the inside of her cheek, shakes her head, but it's too late - she knows he will make her finish her sentence if she doesn't on her own. "I wish everything didn't have to change. I wish I could have an anchor, something in my life that would stay the same through high school and college, you know?"

She lifts her eyes to him and he arches an eyebrow at her, tries to keep himself from saying, _Isn't that my job?_

She gets it anyway, laughs a little as she pushes at his feet on the coffee table. "I mean, besides you, Dad. You've always been my constant. I want...something of mine. Something that...I would have made for myself."

He presses his lips together, weighs his next question. She can handle it, he decides. "Do you miss Ashley?"

Alexis lets out a long exhale, considering. "I don't - maybe it's not Ash, exactly? More like, the idea of him." She gives him a sideways look, almost shy. "I think it's because I've seen you and Kate together so much, and you just seem...so happy. So maybe - maybe I'm a little jealous."

She says the last words as fast as she can, avoiding his eyes all along. He straightens, not sure what to say to that, and she adds quickly, as if to justify herself, "I'm not jealous of the time you spend with her, Dad. I'm - I'm good with that. More than good. I'm just, I guess...envious of what you guys have."

Oh. Oh?

"And I know," she goes on, "I know I haven't been the most supportive person, and I'm - I'm really sorry, Dad - but I thought it was never going to happen, and I didn't want you getting hurt right as I'm leaving-"

"To be honest," he chuckles, "I kinda thought it was never going to happen, too."

Sorrow flashes in his daughter's eyes, and he instantly regrets his words. _That's_ stuff he should keep to himself. Alexis doesn't need to hear about how close it all was.

How it could have been a uniform at his door instead of Kate-

"Hey. We're good now, Pumpkin. It's all that matters. Oh, you know what?" Yeah, this he can tell her. His daughter's eyes rest on him, curious, so very blue. "The other day, I took Kate to Remy's, and uh - Ryan was there."

"Yeah?" Alexis's lips curl into a smile; he knows she likes Ryan, although she hasn't seen a lot of him. "Was he okay?"

"Yeah, he seemed fine. Anyway. He asked - ah, I can't remember how exactly it came about - but he ended up asking about _us_, you know, and I was there petrified, wondering what to say..."

"Unusual situation for you," his daughter throws in laughingly.

"Yes, it was. Thank you for pointing it out. _Anyway_, Kate answered before I could, and she told him that-" his voice breaks a little, joy overcoming him, spilling everywhere at the memory "- she told him we were together. For good."

Ah, he's such a girl. Such a girl. But it doesn't matter, because Alexis knows him, knows the real him, and she's throwing her arms around him and hugging, hugging, hugging. He closes his eyes, happiness swelling inside him.

"Oh, Dad. That's amazing."

"I know, right?" he whispers back, utterly delighted. Alexis understands him.

"I'm so happy for you. For the two of you."

He holds her firmly to his chest, and then decides that it's bedtime, attempts to lift himself off the couch with his daughter in his arms. Alexis shrieks, struggles, and they very nearly go to the floor together; but he catches himself on the armchair, manages to stay upright.

"Dad, put me down," she commands, laughing and breathless.

She's heavier than he remembers, but she's still a little lighter than Beckett; nothing he can't do. "Nope," he says, striding towards the stairs. "I'm putting you to bed."

"Dad, I'm eighteen," she opposes weakly, shoving on him.

He valiantly starts climbing up the stairs. "Age doesn't matter. You're still my little girl."

She heaves a long-suffering sigh, but she lets him carry her to her bedroom, lay her down on the bed, pull the covers up to her chin.

And when he brushes a kiss to her forehead, wishes her goodnight, she catches his wrist to keep him there a little longer. "You know," she murmurs in the dark, "I don't think my dad is the person I'm gonna miss the most when I'm at college."

His heart clenches in disappointment, but he forces it out of his voice. "No?" he manages to breathe out innocently.

"No," she answers. "I'm gonna miss my best friend most of all."

He gapes at her for a second, until, with a sharp pang, he realizes that she means _him._


	29. TwentyNine: Sunday

**Twenty-Nine**

* * *

When Kate finds her father sitting at their usual booth, she sees the hesitance on his face even as he stands to hug her in greeting. Not just hesitance, but disappointment as well.

"Dad," she says, confused by it, but not sure where to go next, why it's there.

"Hey, Katie." He clears his throat and steps back from her, sits down at the booth. "You have news for me?"

Kate sighs inwardly because of course her father knows her too well; it must be written all over her face, this thing with Castle. It's no surprise to him then, and she wishes, for a moment, she could still surprise him.

"Yeah, I do," she says with a little grin. She can't help that either, and her father gives her a quick glance, then pauses.

"Katie?"

"Yeah?" She bite her bottom lip and shrugs at him. She doesn't have a good way to say it, other than-

"Did you get him?"

Did she _get_ him? "Well. I - I guess I did," she laughs, brushing a hand through her hair. Kind of a strange way to put it-

"Are you serious?" her father breathes out. "Kate. Are you - are you okay?" He's staring at her incredulously, and Kate's a little ticked that her father seems to think she's so bad at _life_ that she's-

"Oh." It hits her in a rush, what her father is asking. "No. Dad. It's not - this isn't about mom's case."

But instead of darkness and more disappointment, all of her father's hesitation, all of his sorrow, vanish with a brilliant and easy grin. "It's not? It's not. Oh, Katie, I'm - I'm so glad it's not."

She sits back in the booth, a little stunned by his relief. "Dad."

"Not that I don't - no, Katie, I just want more for you than living in the shadow of your mother's death. I want us to get together for brunch because of good news, and not just updates on our sadness. You know? I want you to-"

"Dad," she interrupts, biting her lip to keep from smiling, but then letting it go as she realizes she has no need to hide it. "Dad, I don't think you need to worry about that anymore."

He lifts both eyebrows in question, leaning forward on the table.

She prolongs the moment, relishing it, and then she snags his fingers and squeezes. "I quit my job, Dad."

"What? Why? What happened?"

She debated, on the whole ride here, what to tell him about it all, what to share. She's spent so much of her adult life shielding her father from the worst of it, but after last summer, their roles were reversed once more.

"I told you about the thief at the Montgomerys? Well it was related to Mom's case. Castle tried to get me to stop, but I wouldn't - we got in a fight-"

"Katie," he sighs, and his eyes darken with sadness. For her. He's a good man, she realizes suddenly. He was lost for a time, but she has her father back.

She gives him a small smile. "Actually, it's okay. It's better than okay."

"You seriously can't believe you're better off without-"

"No, Dad. Jeez. I mean." She gives him a mock glare. "Let me tell the story, would you?"

He chuckles and holds both hands up in surrender. "Please continue."

"So. Castle told me to drop it, but all I could think was that we were just so close. This was my chance to end it, to finally have it solved and done and then-"

"Then you'd be free."

She sighs and brushes a hand over her eyes, wiping the ghost-like tendrils of that feeling away from her. "Yeah. Dad, I-" She pauses and takes a breath, knowing how this will sound to him. "I chased after the guy who shot me. I-"

"Katie. God, Katie, I wish you wouldn't-"

"I was wrong. I know. I nearly died. He was stronger than me, and it was a near thing-"

"Kate," he groans, rubbing his hand down his face. She's struck by the realization that Castle does that too, makes that same movement when he doesn't know what to say to change her mind, when she's being stubborn and he thinks she's wrong. Frustrated with her. Does she inspire this in everyone she loves?

"Dad, I'm sorry; I know. I'm so sorry. Ryan brought the cavalry, saved my life; the shooter got away. And all I could think - all I wanted at that moment. . ."

Her father's hands are tight over her own, squeezing. She can tell by his face that he's expecting her to say that all she wanted in that moment was to get the guy, to make chase. And she's ridiculously proud of herself for being able to say _no_, that's not the case.

"Castle," she says, lifting her shoulders in a shrug.

Her father frowns. "What?"

She hums and laughs at him. "I mean - he's all I could think about. Rick. I didn't want to die, but more than that, I wanted. . .him."

"And then?" her father asks, his face wide open in surprise. "I mean. I hope there's an 'and then' to that statement, because wow. Katie. Wow."

She bites her bottom lip, feeling stupidly shy all of the sudden, and rubs her finger over the lip of her water glass. "And then. . .and then I quit. And then I wandered around for a while, making sure I knew what I wanted and how to get it. And then I couldn't figure out how else to - how to make it right except go find him. And then. And then, wow was part of it," she says quickly, sliding a look up at her father.

"Okay. Well I didn't need to know that." He laughs at her, his eyes joyful in a way she's not sure she's seen since before her mother's death.

"Yeah, well you asked."

"Okay, so the wow part I'm guessing is. . .uh, well you guys are together?"

"Yeah," she says softly. "And. Well. This weekend is the first one in weeks we haven't been together."

"Oh. Wow."

Kate grins at him, lifting an eyebrow, and he actually blushes, turns his eyes away from her to study the menu. Of course, it's at that moment the waitress comes over in a rush, apologizing for the wait, and flips her notebook to a clean receipt, poised and ready.

Her father clears his throat and gestures for Kate to order first.

* * *

Outside the diner, her father takes her by the hand and squeezes, brings her to a halt before she can head for her bike. The motorcycle helmet dangles from her fingertips and he takes it from her, looking thoughtful.

"You're being careful, right, sweetheart?"

"I'm not being reckless, if that's what you mean." She curls her fingers around his and leans in to kiss his cheek. "I have - there's more than enough to live for."

He nods and hands her back the helmet. "You should really get a car, Katie."

She grins at him, pats him on the shoulder. "Not going to happen, Dad. Besides, Castle has plenty."

He laughs, looking startled. "You're kidding me."

"Not kidding. I think three, four?"

"No," he laughs again. "I mean - you do realize what that sounds like you're saying?"

"His cars are my cars?" she offers, biting her bottom lip again to keep from laughing.

He must be able to tell that she's messing with him, trying to get him to blush again, because he narrows his eyes at her. "So. Does this mean I can start hoping for grandkids again?"

Oh jeez. She blushes and hides her eyes, groaning at him.

He laughs and it resounds in the warm afternoon light, bouncing around, makes her lower her hand to look at him. He's kidding, but she also sees that he's not kidding too. And suddenly it strikes her how small their family has been for the last decade, how it's been just the two of them and that was never enough, not with the giant hole in their midst.

Grandkids? Oh God, it's - too much. And - and still the image is tantalizing; it shimmers in the air, the idea that there's a future for their sad, two-person family now, there's a chance for joy again, a chance that it doesn't die with the two of them but it goes on, branches out, grows.

Oh jeez, with _Castle._ Richard Castle.

"Okay, all right. Katie." Her father grips both of her hands, her helmet swings between them as he anchors her. "It was a joke, sweetheart. You just take this one day at a time."

"I'm okay," she says, shaking her head. "I'm not - okay, I am a little freaked out. So let's - uh - let's just table that discussion."

"Pretend I never said it."

She bites her lip and winces, but he's just smiling at her, indulgent and loving. He caresses her hair and kisses her forehead.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Now go find Rick. Have whatever life you want, Katie."

Yes. She can do that. Have an actual _life_ now.


	30. Thirty: Monday

**Thirty**

* * *

His forearm tickles. Something. It sends a shiver through him and he groans, slips a hand out from under the pillow to scare the thing - ew, a spider, maybe? he _hates_ spiders - that has dared venture on sacred Castle ground.

The tickling stops. He sighs in victory, turns his head back into the pillow. It starts again.

Castle moans low in his throat, his natural curiosity prompting him to slit an eye open, his love of sleeping urging him otherwise. His brain is sluggishly debating what to do when the voice comes.

"Come on, Castle," it breathes at his neck, so soft. Mmm, he loves- "Wake up. Up, up, up," it nudges, warm lips at the ridge of his shoulder now. He stirs at the touch, the beautiful touch, her fingers curled around his biceps and the weight of her draped over his back, and he turns his head to her, blinking.

"Kate," he grins blissfully.

She huffs a laugh that he can feel rippling over his skin, and then she leans forwards a little more, her mouth greeting his. "Hi."

He smiles into her lips, too good, the pleasure of her in his morning haze intoxicating. He attempts to roll over, a complicated maneuver since Kate's body is more or less blanketing his; she gasps when she realizes what he's up to, grips his shoulder, but still ends up on the other side of him, laughing. He eagerly reaches for her, winding an arm around her waist and bringing her close.

He cradles her to his chest, taking in her bright eyes, the smile that curls her mouth, the wild tumble of her hair. Radiant. She's radiant.

"How come I don't remember you in my bed last night?" he asks, his voice rough with sleep. He doesn't even try to clear his throat; he knows - loves - her response to his morning grunts. And sure enough, her eyes darken, so deep.

"Maybe because I wasn't in your bed last night," she answers, arching a playful eyebrow at him.

"Uh-huh," he says, pretending to investigate. "Who let you in?"

Her smile turns into that proud, self-satisfied smirk that he adores. "Alexis," she tells him. "I was lucky, actually - got here just as she was leaving."

"Leaving?"

"She said she had to run a few errands. And something about finding herself a project. She seemed...cheerful."

His chest warms at her words, quiet happiness spreading through him. Good, good. He wants his daughter cheerful, always. "And you thought you would just sneak in and surprise me, huh?"

Sneaky Beckett. Oh, how he loves this. Them. Her.

She narrows her eyes at him, gives him a wolfish look. "I have plans for you, Castle. Plans that involve you being awake."

Ooh, sure, Kate. He's always up for-

"Not that," she says with a bright laugh, swatting his hand from her chest. "Come on, Castle, get up. Don't make me wait. I've waited enough."

He can tell from the immediate shimmer of self-consciousness in her eyes that she didn't mean it _quite _like that. But he grins, laces his fingers at the back of her neck, brings her down to him for a searing kiss. Her mouth is warm, and wet, and delicious; she gives and he takes, takes, will never get enough of her.

She hums against him and he slides his fingers under her shirt, caresses the soft, supple skin of her abdomen; she arches against him, murmurs his name breathlessly into his lips. Her knee lands between his, and then she's rocking her hips against his thigh, and _shit_ if he's not completely, absolutely turned-on by that.

"Not that, huh?" he manages to say between kisses, laughingly quoting her words back at her. Kate's fingers curl around his ribs; she gives him a look, arch and tender and sensual, stunning.

"My plan can be altered," she says.

* * *

She makes him hurry through breakfast, through his shower, refuses to step in with him because she knows it would slow them down considerably. Her heart is thrumming, eager, a bird fluttering against the cage of her chest; Kate makes herself sit on the bed and stay still, her hands splayed over her jeans.

He comes out of the bathroom in his underwear, shooting her an inviting look that makes her grin; but she chews at her lower lip and looks away, ignores the provocation.

He puts on a pair of shorts and a light summer shirt, the white cotton making a lovely contrast to his fast-tanning skin; Kate gets to her feet and takes his outstretched hand, brushes a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

He hums; she moves away and leads him out of the bedroom, giving him soft looks over her shoulder, knowing he must be able to read her excitement all over her face. Doesn't matter. She's taking him to a good place today.

She wants him to get excited too.

* * *

The soft morning breeze makes it comfortable to walk around; Castle falls in stride with Kate, pleased to realize that after only a week of doing this, of taking each other places in Manhattan, they've already found a rhythm.

She's got long legs too, and to be honest, he's never had to put much effort into adjusting to her.

"You look happy," he observes inanely, struck all over again by the light in her eyes, the bounce in her step, the childlike joy of her smile. Kate turns her head back to him, gives him a _duh_ look that somehow completely loses its power when she's beaming at him like that.

"Maybe because I _am_ happy," she tells him, eyeroll contained in her voice.

But oh - hearing her casually throw that around, her happiness, like it's no big deal - it makes his heart dance in his chest.

"What'd you do yesterday?" he asks, curious and eager to change the topic. He's rather proud of himself for giving her time, letting her breathe, but that doesn't mean he didn't spend a good part of his Sunday wondering about how she was and what she was doing.

She shoots him a laughing, knowing look that makes him feel like she knows _exactly_ how much he missed her.

"None of your business, Castle," she teases.

He pouts, pouts some more, and then proceeds to tell her everything about _his _weekend, until she can't take it anymore and has to shut him up. "_Fine_," she says, rolling her eyes for good this time. "I had lunch with my dad. There, happy?"

He stares at her, surprised and pleased for them both, but also strangely nervous. Kate picks up on it, laughs at him, shaking her head. "No need to look so terrified, Castle. He approves of you."

Oh?

"He does?" Castle winces at the own eagerness in his voice - he sounds like he's about fifteen years old.

"Oh, yeah. My dad's a big fan. Don't you know that? I think he, um - he probably understood that you loved me well before you even spoke the words." Her eyes soften as she says it, unspoken apology for her own reaction, the silence that nearly broke him.

He lifts their joined hands, presses a kiss to the back of hers. "You mean, before I untactfully sprung them on you while you were dying on the grass," he jokes bravely, surprised that he can even say it without his voice wavering.

She rewards his effort with a smile, but her eyes are shining. "Yeah, well. I think we all dealt with that the best we could," she replies, lifting her eyebrows.

They reach a red light just then, and she pauses, turns to face him fully. "Honestly, though, Castle?"

He regards her with mute inquiry.

"I'm glad you told me then," she says softly, her right hand coming up to find his cheek, fingers curling at his ear. "I think - maybe - your words helped me live. You gave me something to hang onto, something beautiful, and even if I wasn't ready-"

She shakes her head, at a loss for words, it seems, and he leans in to push a gentle, grateful kiss against her mouth. "I'm so glad," he whispers. "Kate, I'm so glad you made it."

Her eyelids flutter, and she kisses him back, a hard press of her lips, like she's using him as a physical barrier against her tears. "I know," she breathes, and then she's steadying herself with a long exhale, stepping away. "Come on, Castle. We're almost there."

* * *

Tompkins Square Park is as lovely as ever in the summer; the green, gorgeous outline of the trees against the bright blue sky, the shrieks of children and the softer padding of joggers' feet, all this vivid life that Kate remembers finding utterly fascinating as a child.

Squeezing Castle's hand in hers, she leads them along the path, finding her way with ease despite the many years that have gone by since the last time she was here.

The park isn't huge, but it's still a decent size; the playground she's heading for is right next to a basketball court. A few posters advertise a free French film that will be shown later in June - she thinks the name, _Donkey Skin_, is odd, but Castle seems to love the strange translation.

He immediately starts spinning tales about magical donkeys, but then stops abruptly to watch a group of dancers rehearsing in the grass, slow and graceful and in perfect sync.

She has to pause too, and wait for him to tear his eyes away, even though she's dying of eagerness. The dancers are beautiful, yes, but they're _so close_ and she wants to show him-

"Sorry," he says after a moment, turning back to her, his smile sheepish but his eyes alight. "All yours now."

She smiles back, starts moving again, wasting no time, her heart pounding in her chest as her eyes eagerly search for-

There it is. The bench.

She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, comes to a sudden stop; she feels Castle gently bump into her, his free hand curling around her hip.

He doesn't say anything, just waits her out, and she's grateful.

"My mom," she starts, clears her throat. He's smiling at her, so tender, and it builds her up, gives her more strength than she needs, than she knows what to do with. "My mom used to take me to this park, when I was young. It was closest to our place, and so whenever it was sunny, and warm enough, we would come here together."

She rests a palm against Castle's chest, lets the wealth of happy memories unfold inside her chest, until she can't do anything but smile. "She would sit on that bench," she says, nodding towards it. "She always had case files with her, you know, so much work, and yet every time I ran back to her, I'd always find a random stranger sitting with her, chatting her up."

"Yeah?" he nudges softly, so much warmth, so much love in his eyes.

She nods, breathless for a second. "I think she just... She was so open and beautiful, and people were - drawn to her. She had a way of listening, giving you her full attention, making you feel - loved. Valued. I used to get jealous when I saw her talk to other people; but then she would turn to me, look at me, and it was - impossible to stay mad."

Castle watches her intently; he brings a hand up and brushes his fingers to her cheek, curls them around her neck. She leans into the touch, closing her eyes, and feels his lips ghosting her cheekbone.

"She sounds like someone I would've liked to have known," he murmurs.

"Yeah," Kate agrees with a sigh. And it doesn't even hurt, not really; the regret still burns, bittersweet, in her chest, but she can hear her mom's laugh, see her mom's smile, and it makes it okay.

Her mother, who was - still is - so much more than a bloodied corpse in a dark alley.

She curls her fingers tight around Castle's, hopes he knows how thankful she is that he helped her see that.

"Wanna go sit on her bench?" he suggests sweetly after a moment.

She opens her eyes again, looks at him, the beautiful man who loves her, who's given her so much, so much, over the last few weeks. She lifts on tiptoe to kiss his mouth, delicate and sure, her body rising up to meet him.

"No," she whispers, rests her forehead to his cheek. "I'm good where I am."


	31. ThirtyOne: Tuesday

**Thirty-One**

* * *

Even though he's playing poker with his writers' group, even though he's currently out ahead and might even win this hand, Rick Castle isn't paying attention.

They can tell; they've stopped teasing him about it. He's grateful for their consideration, mostly because they seem to understand that this is different, that this time it's not just distraction but absorption.

He is in love with Kate Beckett, and she arrives in exactly two hours.

His mother made a grand entrance this morning, smelling of sunshine and perfume, her sunglasses on top of her head, stories tumbling out of her mouth. She and Alexis giggled and exclaimed over every new thing together, their two red heads pressed close.

Of course Martha had plenty to say about the change in their relationship status, and she made her enthusiasm known. In the midst of her theatrics, she turned to him with a tight grip on his forearm as if her squeeze could transfer all of her emotions. Her eyes were fierce with it, and Castle knew.

She wants it for him, but she was never sure it would happen. She wants it for him, and she's so glad it's finally happened.

They've given him his boys' night and made themselves scarce, but really, Castle can't help waiting for someone else entirely to walk through that front door and make herself at home.

He wants it so badly that he can almost feel her here, surrounding him, and he struggles through a last hand of poker.

* * *

Castle texts Kate the moment Patterson finally walks out the door - finally - and then he cleans up a little to take his mind off the quietness of his apartment. The chips, the salsa, the alcohol, the table, the chairs - they all get put away.

He finds himself staring out the windows in the living room but not seeing the view; he's wondering what Kate did all day today, if she enjoyed the time apart, if she wanted to call but didn't, if his texts randomly during the baseball game he watched were annoying-

The scratch at the door has him hurtling through the empty space towards the entry, but then he's stumbling to a stop when his daughter and mother walk through, excitedly commenting about something in Martha's acting studio. Castle deflates a little but gives Alexis a smile; she throws her arms around his neck, momentarily blinding and deafening him in her squeal of happiness.

"Look who we picked up downstairs, Richard."

He opens his eyes to see his mother ushering Kate in behind her.

Oh, it's Kate.

"Hi," he says inanely, his arms loosening from around his daughter.

Kate grins broadly, still with that slightly stunned look on her face that happens whenever anyone is exposed to his mother's brand of enthusiasm. But she slides out from behind his mother and steps towards him, threading her way past Alexis as well to claim a soft kiss from him.

In front of his family, her hand on his chest for balance, a low hum as she pulls away. He grins down at her.

"We're going upstairs," Alexis informs him. He glances up and sees his mother and daughter are already halfway up, both with self-satisfied smirks on their faces. Like they've somehow helped to orchestrate this.

"Good night, Alexis. Mother."

His mother waves farewell as she ascends, and then Castle glances back down to Kate.

"You staying long?"

"Maybe tonight," she says back, giving him a little shrug. "I didn't bring clothes or anything, but-"

"You can wear mine," he says eagerly, dropping a kiss to the upturned corner of her mouth, tasting her smile.

"I can wear yours?" she laughs, the sound of it wrapping around him.

"Yeah. Anything you want."

"You sound very eager, Castle."

"Oh, I am," he assures her, still grinning. He sees her smile catch and widen, pulled up despite her best efforts.

"I am too," she admits, leaning in towards him to press her forehead to his cheek, then shifting to kiss the underside of his jaw. Her hands are already sliding up his bare back, around to his chest. "Let's go to bed."

* * *

She lies next to him in the darkness, their faces close, her eyes just a starry pinpoint in the expanse before him. She has her arms curled up close to her chest, but he's softly stroking her jaw as she speaks.

"I might have missed you. Every now and then."

He grins and knows she knows it's there even if she can't see it.

"You miss me?" she murmurs, still with that answering smile in her voice.

"The fifty text messages in a three hour period didn't clue you in?" he says back.

"I just thought you were really excited about the game."

"No," he breathes. "Just excited about you."

She does that amazing little laugh; cute and small, like it's slipping past her, catching her surprised and unawares, off-guard. He loves that caught-breath laugh, the delight of it.

Her arm shifts, her hand comes to his neck, her fingers stroking his cheek. "You did miss me, didn't you?"

"All day."

She scoots a little closer; he draws an arm around her back. "What about yesterday?" she says on a sigh. "I thought for sure you'd bring it up."

"Bring it up?" he queries, but he knows the answer; honestly, he's surprised _she_ knows.

"The fact that it's been thirty days, Castle."

"Hm, I hadn't noticed."

She flicks her fingers against his ear and he huffs in surprise, tilts his head down to kiss the top of her nose.

"Okay, I might have noticed," he admits.

Kate's fingers are on his jaw again, that soft stroking, just the tips of her fingers really, and it feels so amazing. He strokes his palm down her spine and revels in the touch.

"You noticed but you didn't plan anything? No crazy stunt? You didn't even say anything. I kinda thought it was a pretty big deal, Castle."

He touches his lips to her cheek, feels her fingers come up to curl at the nape of his neck, hold him there for a moment.

"Figured you could do with some time to yourself. And honestly, Kate, what's thirty days compared to a lifetime?"

She groans, laughing a little at him, but her forehead tilts into his and he can feel her fast breath against his chin, his neck. "You have an answer for everything."

"I thought that was pretty smooth, myself."

"Oh it was. Definitely smooth."

He curls his hand at the back of her neck and kisses her again. "But true, Kate."

She slides her palm down his jaw and then back, thumb skirting his ear. "Still." She nudges his cheek with her nose, kisses him softly, then softly again. "Here's to the first thirty days."

He chases her mouth until he can slant his lips over hers, slide his tongue easily inside, stroke and soothe. When he pulls back, he can only see the shadow of darkness where her lashes lift from her cheeks to reveal the night sky of her eyes.

He kisses her once more. "And here's to the next thirty. Days or weeks or months or years, Kate."

"I'm shooting for years."


	32. ThirtyTwo: Wednesday

**Thirty-Two**

* * *

"Fallacious," she murmurs, humming the word at his throat.

Ug, she's good. "You're trying to kill me."

"Uh-huh. . ."

He slips his hands into the waistband of her jeans, nice and snug, and wriggles his fingers as she yelps.

"Cold. Jeez, Castle."

"You wanted ice cream."

"Ice cream. Not your ice cold fingers on my ass."

He grins and snags her mouth for a smudged kiss as she moves her head away. "That's what you get for being sexy."

"Cold?"

"Yeah, that and my fingers on your ass, both."

She laughs and nudges him away, reaching for her bowl of ice cream. His mother starts down the stairs just at that moment, and Kate tries to pull farther away, but he holds on, squeezing and getting the jerk of her body into him as she gasps.

He laughs even as Martha calls out her greeting. "Hey there, kiddos."

"Mother."

"Um-" Kate narrows her eyes at him and tries to covertly snatch his hands out of her pants, but _not-uh, Kate, not happening_.

There to stay.

"So. It's an ice cream for lunch kind of day? How nice. _I_ am headed for a date at-"

"A date?" he grins, flashing his mother a curious look. "With whom?"

"Ah-uh. Not going to jinx it. Besides, by the way you two are looking at each other, I'm sure you'd like the apartment to yourselves, so I'll get on out of here."

Kate buries her face against his chest for only an instant, then lifts her head and looks straight at his mother. "That would be nice, but apparently it's not necessary. Castle seems to think he can do whatever he likes no matter who might be around."

His mother laughs, and he feels - is he embarrassed? He's a little embarrassed. Huh, he could even be blushing. Who knew?

Not moving his hands though. He wriggles them a little more, sliding farther, and she lifts up on her toes into him, either in warning or delicious torture. He's going with torture.

"See you guys later," his mother says, waving her purse over her head as she turns for the door.

"Bye, Martha. I hope you have fun."

"Yes, break a leg, Mother."

* * *

"You taste like Mocha," she murmurs. "Which is strange because you had Rocky Road."

"Fallacious," he says back, grinning as she hovers over his mouth, hands at either side of his head to hold her up. They stumbled from the living room to his study; she brought him to his knees at some point and they didn't get past the floor this time. Absence makes the heart grow fonder?

"That's not an acceptable use of the word, Castle."

"Sure it is. Your argument is fallacious."

"I don't see how-"

"The idea that I _wouldn't_ taste like Mocha just because I had Rocky Road."

"Still don't see how-"

"_You_ taste like Mocha," he asserts, stretching his neck to capture her mouth with his, sliding his tongue inside to sweep along hers. She gives a little moan, her hips crashing down into him. He slides his hands to her cheeks and holds her there, drops his head back to the carpet to look at her.

She blinks hard and shakes her head a little. "Is that - I'm not sure where we are in this conversation."

He grins, self-satisfied, a little smug, and kisses her again, quickly. "You taste like Mocha, so therefore, I do too."

"But just because I have the taste of Mocha in my mouth doesn't mean that I can't taste anything else-"

"Not what I'm getting at," he says with a laugh. "Actually, I'm saying we've mingled tastes. Your tongue's been down my mouth so much-"

She socks him in the shoulder for that and slides off of him with a laugh, falling down onto the floor. But she puts her head on his bicep, twines her legs around his. He curls his arm up and strokes his fingers through her hair, pressing a gentler, less intense kiss to her still-smiling mouth. She does taste wonderful.

"I don't want you to go home," he sighs.

She goes still for an instant and he knows it was the wrong thing to say. Too much, too soon, most likely, and she-

"Is it bad that I don't want to either?"

He lets out a relieved breath. "No? Maybe."

"I'm not moving in, Castle."

"No. I know." He wishes - but no, what he told Alexis is true. She needs time to be this different person - this person that's let go of her old way of life and started a new one.

"But doesn't mean. . .I can't stick around a night here and there?"

"Of course not. No. Yes. I - I want you to stick around as many nights as you want to."

She hums and ducks her head, her mouth against his side, at that spot where his pecs meet his ribs, nearly at his armpit. She seems to be breathing him in.

"Are you - are you sniffing my armpit?" he laughs.

"No," she says with exaggeration, then sighs. "Yes. You smell good."

"I do? No, no that can't be true. We just - and I know _I_ got sweaty, think you did too, so I'm sure it's not that pleasant-"

"Shut up, Castle. Talking is ruining my hazy afterglow."

"Fine, fine. Sniff away."

She pinches him and he yelps, rubs at his side where she's dug in. Kate knocks his hand away and uses her mouth to skim the bare skin there, easing the sting with the touch of her tongue.

"First smelling and now you're _licking_-"

"I said shut up, Castle."

* * *

"You're leaving?"

She stands in the doorway of his bedroom with her bag in both hands, biting her bottom lip, her hair in a curtain around her face. "I think I should."

"Why?"

"I spent last night-"

"So?"

She shifts back and forth, watching him.

"I don't want you to," he says, and he knows he sounds petulant and a little pathetic, but he feels a little pathetic. He just wants her. He just _does. _He loves her. After that whole conversation last night about thirty days and thirty years, he feels like now is the time, they should just do this, and he doesn't want to spend any more nights or days without her here.

Even though he knows it's better for her to stand on her own two feet first. He knows it is. Still.

"Castle-"

"Or I'll come home with you-"

"No."

The breath rushes out of him at that, but - but - he struggles for it to not mean what he knows it doesn't mean. It doesn't mean that.

She drops her bag on the floor and walks towards him. She'd caught him as he was coming out of the bathroom and his hands are still damp from washing them, but she takes each palm and kisses it.

He lets out a sigh.

"I am not taking you away from your family," she says softly. "That's why I said no about coming to my place. That and that alone."

"One night isn't-"

"If you came home with me, would it really be for one night?"

He meets her eyes and knows she reads the truth in his. She studies him for a long time, then her hand reaches up and smooths through his bangs, her fingertips lightly skimming his forehead, over and over.

"I ought to go home, Castle. I'm not - I can't move in with you yet. I need to-"

He grins. "Yet?"

She rolls her eyes, leans in to press her closed mouth to his, hard and quick. "_Not _yet."

"I like the sound of that."

"Give it time. Give us time. Give me time?"

He nods and lifts his hands to her waist, squeezing, tugging her in closer. "So you're staying for dinner, staying the night?"

"Yeah," she gives in, but the way she's looking at him, the way she says it - it doesn't sound like giving in at all. It sounds like delight, it sounds like relief, it sounds like she wanted him to convince her.

He cradles her, palms against her jaw, and touches his mouth to hers, lightly, reverent, grateful. Her fingers curl at his wrists, but she isn't tugging him away, only anchoring him.

Her eyes regard him and then she turns her head to kiss the heel of his hand. When her gaze comes back to his, she's soft and gorgeous and brimming with tenderness. "I do love you."

Whoa.

Wow.

_Wow_, how that hits him. So good. A punch to the gut, his insides turned out.

"Are you crying?"

"No." And he has to kiss her again just so he doesn't look like a total girl.


	33. ThirtyThree: Thursday

**Thirty-Three**

* * *

Kate looks so serious when he opens the door of his loft; she moves closer to kiss him, yes, a soft caress of her lips, the warmth of her palm against his jaw, but she won't let it last, won't let it distract her.

Not grave or solemn, just-

Focused.

Yes, that's it, focused. She has her detective face on. He hasn't seen it in a while, and he's surprised at the pleasure that licks at his heart, tingles in his chest. So he grabs his coat and follows her, no questions asked, quietly wondering what part of Kate Beckett she's going to uncover for him.

She waits for him at the bottom of the stairs, and he links their hands, presses his mouth to her cheekbone, hoping that she understands how humble, how grateful this makes him.

Her heart open and exposed for him to see, a rare, captivating flower with a new petal revealed every day.

He will never stop loving her.

* * *

O'Reilly's.

The place looks like a cop bar. It's dim and a little cramped, full of middle-aged - and aged - men who turn suspicious eyes to them as they walk in; but Kate seems to know a couple of them, though, because she gives them brief nods and they nod back, look away.

The bartender obviously knows her too, and Castle feels a stupid flare of jealousy, because the man has seen facets of Beckett that _he _probably hasn't, and he wants to know every-

Okay, he's being ridiculous. This is what Kate has brought him here for, isn't it? And really, he has no business being jealous of a bartender when _he_ gets to touch her skin at night, to lick the curve of her neck and swallow her gasping breaths.

Kate orders two Scotch whiskies for them, and he tries to school his face, not let it betray any of his surprise. He's never known her to drink whisky, much less at eleven thirty in the morning. But he trusts her.

She nods towards an empty booth, and he leads the way, shedding his jacket before he sits down. Kate slides on the seat next to him; he wonders if it's because she wants the comfort of their shoulders brushing together, or because she'd rather not be looking into his eyes.

Maybe both.

A waiter stops by their table, sets their order down in front of them, walks away without a word.

Kate curls both hands around her glass, watches the swirl of amber; Castle can't tear his eyes from her long enough to give his own drink more than a fleeting glance. He's breathless with anticipation; he doesn't know what's coming but his pounding heart tells him it's going to be good. It's that very same feeling when you've reached the top of a rollercoaster, and you know you're about to tumble down the track at an exhilarating speed.

"Royce...used to love this place," she says quietly, not looking at him still. "He took me here, the night after I made my first arrest. To celebrate."

He's not moving, not breathing. To say that he's wondered about Royce would be - oh, only the biggest euphemism ever.

"It's here that I told him the story about my mom's murder, too," she adds, something like a wistful smile twisting her lips.

He remembers that phone call, almost two years ago, remembers the way her voice broke, how his heart bled for her. His hand finds her on the table, fingers lacing, and he's relieved that she doesn't push him away.

"You were in love with him," he says, and it's not a question.

She lets out a long exhale, runs a hand through her hair, pushing it back. "I - yeah. So I thought. Not a very healthy kind of love, obviously. I was...I was in a bad place, Castle, but I was trying so hard, and he was..." she shook her head, smiled, a trembling thing. "He was smart, and funny. Told the best stories. He was supportive too - never made fun of me, never dismissed me, just...taught me all I had to know. And more."

She falls silent, twirling her finger over the ridge of her glass, and Castle watches her for a moment before he finally speaks. "So... What happened?"

She bites on her lower lip, turns her eyes to him for the briefest second. "At first it was fine. I was in love with him, he was pretending he didn't know - we were fine. And then-" she sighs. "I had to shoot a guy on the job. To save Mike's life. I had never killed anyone before, but I did it, didn't even hesitate. It didn't hit me until - after. Hours later."

His heart is breaking for her, this young Beckett that he pictures shaking - crying? - all alone in her apartment, no one to call, no one to talk to. No one but her training officer.

"You went to see Royce," he says, again, not really a question.

She nods slowly. "I went to see him." She gives a sudden laugh, closing her eyes as she presses her palm to her forehead, and it helps dispel the heavy mood a little, helps him breathe easier. "Oh god, what was I thinking," she moans. "I walked to his place, Castle, and it was raining so hard - I was completely soaked when I got there. I must have looked ridiculous-"

He grins, can't help it. "Or just impossibly hot," he offers, wiggling an eyebrow.

She looks at him in surprise, lets out a single breath of laughter when she realizes what he means. "Oh. Well. I didn't think of it as-"

"A tradition of yours? Showing up drenched at the door of the men you love?" The moment the words are out of his mouth, he wants to wince, take them back in case they're too much, but Kate just tilts her head, regarding him pensively.

"It wasn't..." she shakes her head slowly. "It wasn't the same thing," she tells him, and she seems so earnest that he believe her. "Going to Mike that night - it wasn't the right thing to do, Castle, it was just... the only thing I could think of. I was young and silly; I didn't know any better."

_It's not like that with you_, her eyes are saying, so dark and bright, and he beams at her, lets her know that he gets it, gets the difference - and damn, it means the world to him. That she thinks they're _right._

He leans in for a soft kiss that is hardly a kiss at all, just their lips brushing and their breaths mingling, and he feels her smile. He wants the rest of the story, though, badly enough for him to move back and simply stare, mesmerized by her, by how strong and vulnerable she looks, her face half in shadows.

"So you went to Royce's place."

She ducks her head, and wow, _wow, _Kate Beckett is _blushing._ He gets a sudden glimpse of the way she must have looked twelve years ago, a little shier, a little quieter, but just as fierce and determined - it makes him to punch Royce a little bit. Taking advantage of her when she was so brittle-

"He wasn't wearing a shirt when he opened the door," she says, voice so low that he can barely hear, and then her lips curl up in something that - that - he can't deny that it's a smile. "Didn't expect me."

Right. Okay. Maybe Royce wasn't the one taking advantage after all.

"So you slept with him," Castle says, not exactly eager to hear the details. If they can just, skip past that night, that's fine with him.

Kate levels an amused look on him, and he can tell she knows exactly what he's doing. But she humors him, and suddenly the smile falls off, and her eyes are dark. "The next morning, I woke up in his bed. Alone."

Ouch. And he's back to wanting to punch Royce.

"I went back to my apartment, showered, changed, went to the precinct. He was there." Her voice is dull now, like she's attempting to suppress all her emotions. But she can't erase the cracks. "And I found out I'd been promoted_._ Put in Vice, where I could _make detective_, because Royce thought _I could be one of the best._"

She says the words in a detached, even way, but there's so much hurt, so much hurt underneath. He has no doubt that these are the exact words, that the sting was so sharp that they remained etched in her memory. Oh, Kate.

He squeezes her hand, at a loss for words, wishing he could take it all away with a magic kiss. After a moment, she reaches for her glass of whisky, takes a long sip, swallowing it stoically before she looks back at him. Her face is soft, and she's his Kate again, not the wounded twenty-two-year-old who turned her back on Mike Royce.

"You forgave him, though, didn't you?" Castle asks suddenly, remembering her interaction with Mike before she'd realized he was after the treasure map like all the others. "When we ran into him..."

She smiles, looks down at her hands. "Yeah. It took me a long time. I was so mad. So mad, Castle. It took me a long time to accept that he just wasn't in love with me - that he cared for me, but couldn't return-" she chewed on her lip, closed her eyes for an instant. "I'm sure he considered that one time he gave in to me was his biggest mistake, and I just...didn't see it that way."

Is she... Is she serious?

"But yeah, looking back, I _know _he was doing what he thought was best for me, being - the best friend he could be, and I'm...grateful for that. That I had him at all, even if - it wasn't in the way I wanted."

"Kate."

She looks at him, shimmering green eyes, and for a second he's stunned, speechless, can't remember what he meant to say. And then he does. "You think - you think Royce wasn't in love with you?"

She presses her lips together, as if hardening herself against the blow of that admission. "I _know_, Castle. Why else-"

"Oh my god, Kate. Kate. Listen to me. That guy - was _crazy _about you. When he told me stories about you as a rookie? And, oh man, when he showed me that picture of you after you graduated of the Academy, oh Kate. You should've seen the look on his face. Completely and utterly smitten."

She stares at him, mouth agape, and then she shakes her head fiercely. "No. No, Castle, you're wrong. He _liked_ me, he was my friend - he lusted after me enough to sleep with me - but..."

"_Shut up." _She glares at him and he winces, but seriously, seriously, she has to _listen. _"For god's sake, Kate, just. How long - how long were you his partner for?"

She gives him a long, hard look before she answers, reluctantly. "Almost two years."

Castle nods, chooses his words carefully. "Two years. Kate. Two years working with you _every day_, watching you grow into the amazing cop you are? There is not a chance _in hell_ that this man wasn't completely in love with you." He gives her a little lopsided grin. "I know what I'm talking about."

She watches him for a long time, guarded, considering.

"And what he did, saying that you'd be great in Vice, that you'd make a hell of a detective? He was just being honest. Probably thought he wasn't good enough for you either, that he wasn't what you needed-"

"That's ridiculous," she objects sharply.

"Is it?" He raises his eyebrows at her. "You said it yourself, it wasn't a very healthy kind of love. Do you think Royce wouldn't have picked up on that?"

She looks shocked, and unwilling, but she also looks like she's been waiting to hear these words for years.

"Kate," he tells her, and he's not sure why it matters so much, why he_ needs_ to convince her, but he does. "Kate," he says, curling a hand around her neck, turning to face her as much as he can in the narrow booth, "Mike Royce loved you. I can promise you - he loved you, Kate, just like I do. Just like I do," he murmurs, and he's kissing her, tasting whisky on her tongue, smoky and sharp, but not nearly as intoxicating as her own, distinctive taste.

She kisses him back, tongue sliding against his, teeth rasping at his bottom lip; when she breaks away he's breathless, and she's holding his face firmly in her hands, that beautiful, stubborn look in her eyes.

"No, Castle," she tells him, unwavering. "You're wrong. You're wrong. No other man ever loved me like you do."

* * *

**thanks go to JillianCasey for permission to use her story, 'Adagio', as the backstory for this memory**


	34. ThirtyFour: Friday

**Thirty-Four**

* * *

Castle stops on the sidewalk at her snort of disapproval, glances up at the edifice in front of him. "You took me to a bar; I'm taking you to a bar. Tit for tat."

"I already showed you my tat."

He spins around to look at her, and she's grinning that sly, so sly smile. Jeez, she's going to kill him, saying stuff like that.

She comes up to him, places a hand on his shoulder and turns him around. "Show me your bar, Castle."

He yanks open the door to the Peculier Pub on Bleecker Street, the entire front face of which is this shocking, terrible red. She tugs on the belt loop of his cargo shorts and he glances back to her.

"It's spelled wrong," she huffs.

"Yeah, that's why I like it."

"It bothers me."

He grins and leads her inside one of his formerly-favorite bars. "It's near NYU, so I was here a lot in the beginning, before I realized that college bars aren't the place to write."

"You wrote here?"

"No," he laughs, shaking his head and finding them a table. "I didn't write here. That was the problem."

She wrinkles her nose as he hands her a stained, paper menu. "Oh, blueberry beer? I - that sounds interesting." She glances up at him. "So. You didn't write."

"I drank. And we saw some shows - a lot of bands would play here on Friday nights, and we'd go."

"Who's we?"

"Me and Kyra."

"Ah, tit for tat."

He shrugs and hopes she doesn't think he's trying to be mean, or spiteful, or - well, he just wants her to have something of what she gave him yesterday. "A little. I like knowing your stories, Kate."

She flashes him a grin. "You know that Carly Simon song?"

He frowns. "'You're So Vain'?"

Kate laughs, a flush coming up her neck as she shakes her head at him. The waitress comes over and interrupts, and Castle scrambles with the menu for a second until ordering chicken tenders and a beer. He just picks a state - Florida - on the extensive beer list and then laughs and orders a Landshark; he hopes it lives up to the name. Kate asks for the Blue Point Blueberry ale, then she customizes a turkey wrap with no bacon, combining a couple of menu items.

Yeah, he probably should lay off the fried foods, but he always gets the chicken tenders here. He can't break tradition.

The waitress leaves and he turns back to Kate. "Am I vain for-"

"No," she chuckles, shredding the paper off the straw the waitress left. "Not what I was thinking. She has a less famous song - I guess it's less famous. 'We Have No Secrets.'"

"Oh."

"We have no secrets; we tell each other most everything. About the lovers in our past, and how they didn't last."

She's half-singing it, sort of, and he likes the way it alters her voice, loves it actually. She's amazingly gorgeous.

She shakes her head. "There's a line I've always liked - 'sometimes I wish, often I wish, I never knew some of those secrets of yours'." She shrugs at him. "Maybe you didn't want to know about Royce?"

"No. I did."

She nods.

"Do you not. . .want to know?"

She shakes her head. "I'm a - was a - cop. I like to know. I was just making sure."

"I'm a writer; I like to know." He grins at her, then the waitress has come back with their beers and two waters. He supposes that's why the straws are on the table, but he ignores the water and takes a swig of his beer. He has to admit it's not as spectacular as the name would suggest.

"So. You and Kyra would come listen to great bands. Instead of writing."

"Yeah. Well no. The bands weren't great. Sometimes they were okay. Some were great, most were dismal."

Kate lifts an eyebrow.

"This one night, we both make our way through the crowd and the music is so loud - well, the bass really - that we can't hear a word we say. I make Kyra ask the bartender for our beers because you actually have to lean over and put your mouth to his ear for him to hear it at all."

Kate's grinning at him, laughter spilling out of her eyes, in the set of her mouth. Hasn't come out yet, not in a sound, but he can tell she's close. Good. He wants her to be happy today.

"So Kyra bellies up to the bar, and this was back when it was just Guinness for me - nothing fancy or anything - so it's simple. I'm right next to her at the bar, my eyes mostly on the band - they had this hot girl bass player and she was pretty awesome-"

"What band?" Kate asks, interest sparking in her eyes.

"Huh? Oh. The Mermen."

Kate tilts her head at him. "You're kidding me."

"No?"

"Are you serious? You saw The Mermen here?"

"Yes." He gives her a little look, asking without asking for her to explain.

"I saw them in San Francisco. At the Filmore. Beach music, surf psychedelic rock?"

He grins. "Yeah. That's them."

"Awesome." She's blinking and then shaking her head, scraping a hand through her hair. "I'm a little blown away that you even know who they are."

"Weird band, hot bass player."

"Right. Yeah. Okay, sorry. Ordering beers."

"Yes. So. Kyra orders, but right then this guy - already drunk - comes barreling up to the bar, crushing her as he gets right in there. He's leaning over her to yell his order to the bartender and Kyra is smashed between him and the bar. He doesn't even seem to know she's there, and I-"

"Oh. You hit him."

He sighs. "You're jumping ahead. Not yet. I grab him by the shoulder and forcibly remove him. Also, I might have said something devastatingly witty but insanely stupid. He punched me in the face."

Kate is pressing her lips together and giving him this really sexy, tender face, like she's both proud of him and also laughing at him, and he goes on with the story.

"Remember how I told you I'd only ever been in one bar fight before?"

"Yeah. That was your one fight?"

"Uh-huh. It went something like this - he punched me, I tackled him back into the bar, his friends yanked me off, I got punched in the eye, the ribs, and then Kyra was standing right in front of me, glaring them down even though she's like the smallest, tiniest girl alive and she couldn't throw a punch if her life depended on it, and I thought - I am going to be in love with this girl forever - if I manage to live past tonight."

Kate reaches across the table and slides her fingers between his, squeezing, and he wonders if maybe that was too much information. "Looks like you've got a track record."

He stares. "Huh?"

"You seem to fall in love with girls who have your back in bar fights."

He grins at her, everything settling in his chest, at ease again. "Yeah, bad-ass girls, maybe so."

"Good thing I actually know how to throw a punch."

He squeezes her fingers back. "Well, I try not to need the backup, but you know me."

"Like I said, good thing I can actually save your ass, Castle."

"Yeah, Beckett, let's hope you never have to save my ass again."

"We'll avoid college bars with drunken frat boys, then." She grins at him, then draws his hand up towards her mouth, kisses his knuckles. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"I've already seen you throw a few punches, Chuck Norris. You hold your own."

Wow. This girl. This woman. He will truly be in love with this woman forever. And amazingly enough, she's looking at him like she returns the favor.


	35. ThirtyFive: Saturday

**Thirty-Five**

* * *

Kate wakes to the sunlight pouring into her bedroom through the half-opened blinds, as if in jubilant disregard for the aloneness she finds herself with. Empty sheets, the too-cool pillow, the distance of miles.

She shakes off her existential mood and slides out of bed, pressing two fingers to the slats to push the shutters closed, blocking out the early morning. She gets back in bed and curls up on her side, staring at the unused space that should be his side.

Her phone rings to the sappy disco strains of 'Let's Get It On' and even though she's never heard the ringtone before, never put it into her phone, she knows it's Castle. His doing, him calling.

She answers with a grin she finally feels and hums in greeting.

"No way. Seriously, you are _not_ just waking up."

"Yeah," she gets out, closing her eyes and resisting the urge to snuggle into the pillow that would be his were he here.

"It's nearly eight o'clock, Beckett!"

"So sue me."

He laughs, rich and redolent in the digital expanse, too rich really, for what digital is capable of, and she knows it's all in her head, how she feels about him coloring the tones and tenor of his voice, but wow, she loves him.

She really loves him. She is _in love_ with him to the degree that makes his voice more meaningful and his side of the bed, well, _his side of the bed._

"Castle, before you say anything more. Take the day. Today. Take Alexis to a movie or a museum or the park. Do family."

"I can do family with you-"

She sucks in a sharp breath-

"Too soon?" he smirks. She knows he is smirking; she can hear it.

"Do family without me today. I want to accomplish something. I have all this time on my hands and I'm starting to feel wasteful and sloth-like. I need to accomplish-"

"Being with me _is_ an accomplishment. Ask my - ah, ask anyone."

"Uh-huh," she says, feigning the disapproval because really, he's probably right. His ex-wives might have no idea what they've given up, but good riddance and thank you God, fate, the universe, because here they are. "It is an accomplishment. I do know that - I'm the one with all the issues in this relationship, Castle, so don't worry. I get it."

"You don't have issues, just endearing characteristics that-"

"You might want to be careful. You almost told me to ask your ex-wives about you, and now you're-"

"I'm only complimenting your passionate nature. I love your passionate nature. It's highly arousing."

She does laugh at that, her head a tangled mess unable to get back to the original idea. What was it? Oh. Something about the morning light illuminating all her empty places.

"I'm serious, Castle. I want to do something with my time that means good for other people. So first - you and Alexis."

"Ah, I see. Alexis and I are on your to-do list. Got it. You could come-"

"No," she says quietly, and he's quiet back, listening to the things she isn't saying, the thing they haven't discussed at all because it's a little too much like being his family and they both know they aren't there yet. They will be, sure, but not today.

Alexis doesn't trust her; Alexis is trying, but fundamentally, his daughter thinks Kate is going to hurt him.

And Kate can't exactly say she won't. They will both do some hurting; it's the nature of relationships to know all the places and ways that hurt. It will happen.

"Okay," he says finally. "What will you do?"

"Read a book," she says on a content little purr.

He laughs, then sobers when he realizes she's serious. "No. Not-uh. You do not get to throw me over for a _book_, Kate Beckett."

"I thought you liked that I read."

"I do. Just not instead of me."

"I have mountains of books next to my bed, in my bookcase, that I've picked up over the last six or seven years but have never gotten a chance to start, let alone finish. I want to do at least one of those today."

"Start or finish?"

"Yes."

He sighs dramatically. "Fine. Go accomplish something today."

"Call me later?"

"How later is later?"

"Not in an hour, Castle."

"Darn."

"After dinner."

A chuckle on his end and she knows what he's thinking.

"No. After seven or eight. You do not get to claim 'old man' and eat dinner at four."

He does laugh then, hard, and she smiles wide to have put that laughter in his voice.

* * *

A glass of red, late afternoon light turning the bathroom amber and gold, her phone silent and being good (Castle being good, really, and not calling) on the little table next to the tub.

She draws a bath and sinks down into the hot water slowly, letting it circle her body and surround her, a line of ever encroaching heat along her skin. She leans back against the cold porcelain of the tub, wincing at the contact before warming it just enough to relax.

Kate closes her eyes, skims her fingertips along her thigh, feeling the lotion melt away, soft and silky in the water. She rubs her hand against her neck to dry it off a little, then reaches for the book.

She has a stack of paperbacks next to the bed, hardbacks in the bookcase, an odd assortment on the wooden stairs leading up and out to the roof garden, but she chose this one earlier this morning. She's not sure why. Okay, well, a book about mystery and love isn't really a huge leap for her, but she wonders why now.

Still she opens the book at her bookmark in the middle and begins to get it done. Accomplish at least this today.

But of course, as always, she finds herself drawn in, living the story rather than reading the words on the page.

* * *

She's pulled roughly out of the novel by _I've been really tryin' baby, to hold back these feelings for so long_ and she lets it go on just to hear the chorus, _and if you feel, like I feel, baby, come on, oh come on, and let's get it on-_

She snags the phone and closes the book against her wet chest, not even caring, the dustjacket somewhere in the floor.

"Hey," she gets out, and her throat is too thick to mask it, despite the soft smile that ringtone brought to her lips.

"Hey. Oh, you're crying."

She takes in a long, deep breath but it doesn't help much. She puts her chin to the top of the book. "Yeah."

"I'm sor-"

"It's okay. Sometimes it's exactly what needs to happen in a story as good as this one."

He makes a little sound, exasperation or curiosity or something. She hasn't managed to catalog all of those noises yet. He's still revealing them, slowly, as if unwinding his layers of onion, one thin skin at a time.

"What book are you reading that's making you so sad?"

"I'm not _so sad_, Castle. It's a story. And sometimes stories can make me cry."

"You're not re-reading _Time Traveler's Wife_, are you?"

She laughs at that, presses her thumb against the bottom of her eye to catch the steady stream of tears that still leak out. "No."

"Then what book?"

She lies, because she isn't sure he really ought to know. She searches for the last novel that did make her cry and lands on- "_A Tale of Two Cities._"

"Oh, yeah. That's a love story, really. Pretty remarkable, the power of love. But Kate?"

"Yeah?"

"Spoilers?"

She smiles to herself, because she's read that Dickens novel before and she knows how it ends. "Yeah. Spoil away."

"He dies for love, for her, but she's okay. She makes it."

"Because he doesn't really die for love, Castle. He dies for _her_ love, for the man she loves. She makes it because she still has the man she loves, and he dies in that man's place."

"Crazy, isn't it? It's so very unselfish. I don't know-" Here his breath hitches and it hits her suddenly what they're inadvertently talking about. "I don't know, Kate, that I could be that unselfish."

"You've saved my life how many times? I don't know how you can say that."

"Those were all supremely selfish."

"I don't follow."

"I love you. I don't want you to _die_. Of course I'm going to save your life. But Demming's life? Dr. Motorcycle Man's? Never."

She likes that he's so confident about her, about them, that it's _Man_ and not _Boy._ She smiles into the phone and feels her tears dissipating, the knot in her throat unwinding and sliding away. "I don't love Demming or Josh. So you'd never have to save their lives for me."

"Whew, good. Because I'm pretty sure I couldn't do it anyway."

"But Castle?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you could do it; I think you already have loved me pretty unselfishly. I think that's what kept me. . .going. The idea that I'd have you in the end, if I could just hold on long enough."

He just breathes over the phone, and she knows she's surprised him, knows they don't talk like this exactly. Sometimes after a case, it's oblique references, but here she's laying it all out. And she isn't only talking about needing to hold on to the edge of that roof.

"Hey, also?"

"There's more?" he gets out, half-humorous but his voice a little cracked.

"You never have to worry about saving anyone else's life - but I do love you. Would you save _your_ life for me?"

He lets out a quick, ragged breath. "Yes. Yes, of course."

She blinks and picks up the book she's been reading. "Castle, I'm not reading _A Tale of Two Cities_."

"You're not?" he asks, and she can hear the question about her lie.

"I'm reading _Heat Rises_. And I'm at the end." Rook in the hospital, in a coma, Nikki his silent and ever-watchful ghost.

"Oh," he says slowly, a long and drawn out thing that ends with his sucked-in breath of realization. "No. Kate-"

"You promised me," she says quietly.

"I didn't know what I was promising." She knows he was thinking something along the lines of her father's alcoholism or her own obsession with her mother's case - should Castle ever become addicted to something, she could cash in his promise. But that's not what she meant.

"But you did promise."

"_Kate-_"

"I don't - it won't happen, Castle. It won't, not now. That part of my life is over. But if you do something that ends your life in order to save mine? I will never get over that. I will never be right again. So if you love me, you won't do that to me. You'll save your life for me."

"Don't do this to me on the phone. I can't even touch you."

"You sound like I'm breaking up with you," she half laughs, trying ease the moment.

"Because you _are_. You've tricked me into promising to save myself _instead of you_, and I will never be okay with that, Beckett. You think _you_ won't be right after that? I wouldn't either. Knowing I had the opportunity, the chance, however slim, to keep you alive but I stood there-"

"Because you promised. You promised."

"Kate."

"You promised," she says again, even though she knows it's not fair.

"It's the only promise to you I will ever break," he swears, and she knows it's true. Knows that it's a promise as well.

"But it won't happen," she says finally. "You'll never have to - it will never happen. Because I'm out, Castle."

"Yes." She hears the finality in his voice, hears that he finally _gets it_, why she has to be done with that life in order to have any life at all. "Yes. You're out."

"It will never happen."

"It damn well better not happen."

She wants to say, _It won't_, but that's a promise she can't make either, because it shouldn't have happened to her mother, but it did. It did. And Kate Beckett, much as she would like to try, cannot control the universe.

"Let me finish my book-"

"And finish crying," he says gently, overriding her voice. "Yeah. I see. Good night, Kate."

She hangs up without saying anything more because the tears are already back, and she opens the book because it's the excuse she's needed to mourn whatever life she used to have and can no longer hold on to, not if she loves him.

* * *

Castle unlocks her apartment door with the extra key he took out of her kitchen drawer last week, or the week before, one of those times when they were here together. He took it and he isn't sorry for it.

He sheds his shoes, socks, unbuttons his cuffs and rolls the sleeves up his forearms. He stops just outside her bedroom door, but takes a breath and opens it. Still in the bathtub, apparently, but that's only natural. He just hung up with her not twenty minutes ago. He could _not_ let that be their good-night.

He eases into the doorway of the master bathroom, watches her in the dim light. No bubblebath, not today, just the distortion of water and the lovely shadows of her body above and below, the dark hair piled on top of her head with the streaks of sun-lightened strands curling around her face.

From this angle, she could be a deep-sea mermaid hanging on to her fins, to the sinuous and broad muscle of her lower body rather than a woman with two legs.

The book is on the floor, the tears have dried in faint impressions of streambeds and channels on her cheeks, and her arm is over one side of the tub, fingers stretched down to the book as if reaching out for something she can no longer achieve.

She sighs and lifts her head, her eyes still closed. "Castle."

"Yes."

"Come here."

He walks into her bathroom, leans over to stroke his fingers through her hair, tangled, his touch making it fall apart and around her face. He gets to his knees beside the bathtub, wincing at the cold tile, pushes his damn book farther away from them.

"I love you, Kate."

She opens her eyes and there's no trace of sadness, none of the emotional blackmail she leveled on him only a few minutes ago. He leans in and presses his lips to the dried up course of her tears, traveling down her cheek until he meets her mouth.

She's salty and warm, her lips two soft fingers touching his, waiting for permission or warning or both. He slides his palm down to the back of her neck and parts his mouth, letting the wet slide of his lips make her promises he intends to keep forever. Better promises. Promises of love and not death.

Her breath catches, a wet hand comes to trail down his neck to his shirt, clutching, the damp heat finally arousing. He touches his tongue to her mouth, explores the seam that refuses to part for him until he's managed, somehow, to wordlessly convince her that even though there's a promise he can't keep, the others will make up for it.

She must finally believe him, or she's done with withholding herself from him, because her lips part and she's allowing him inside, and her body is arching up out of the water and pressing into his chest, and he captures it, that slick and wet body, pulls her towards him and they hang there, caught, two creatures unable to bridge the difference of their worlds.

She grows legs then, lifts one out of the water to wrap around him, awkward and off-balance, but he drags her out of the water and manages to stand. She chuckles into his ear and it magically erases the last hour's conversation entirely because she is worth it, worth all of it, the issues, the broken promises, the terrible things and the good things and the days it won't be so great and the nights she wakes him up or doesn't even though she should.

"Castle, get moving before I freeze."

He laughs back, finds her mouth for a heat-inducing kiss, warming her thoroughly, and then carrying her out to her bedroom to make love to her.


	36. ThirtySix: Sunday

**Thirty-Six**

* * *

Because it would make no sense to go home, not after _that_, he falls asleep in her bed, his body curled around hers, his nose at the ridge of her shoulder blade. She's warm and soft and amazing, and he loves her. He never wants to leave her again.

So when he reaches the delicate line of sleep, his mind hovering at the hazy edge, he treads it with abandon, blissful and knowing. He loves her.

He maybe loves her a little less when he's jerked awake in the middle of the night by the jab of a sharp elbow into his ribs.

Castle grunts and then shifts to protect himself from another attack; his half-open eye lands on the alarm clock that sits on the bedside table, narrows in an attempt to get a clearer picture.

3:47.

Way too early.

His eyelid snaps shut and he burrows his face into the pillow, intent on going back to sleep, when he first hears it.

A low, almost inaudible whimper that has to be coming from her; a raspy, tiny, painful sound that has him rolling back to her in a matter of seconds. What the hell-

She has her back to him, the elbow that must have woken him pressed tight to her side, her body coiled into a thrumming ball of tension; he pushes himself up on his forearm, his other hand finding a resting place at her hip as he leans forward to get a view of her face.

Her eyes are closed, lips pressed together, this little crease in her forehead she has when she's unhappy or thinking too hard. She shakes her head in her sleep, incoherent mumbles falling from her lips, and oh, _okay_ - she's dreaming.

Not exactly the best kind of dream, looks like.

"Kate," he murmurs, brushing his fingers over her hip, attempting to soothe.

She shivers, and then rolls around to face him, literally crashing into his body, her fingers splaying eagerly on his chest. "No, no," she whispers, and then, in a dark, urgent, thready voice that breaks his heart, "_Castle._"

He curls his hand over hers, lowers his mouth to the shell of her ear, the line of her jaw, the corner of her mouth. "Hey, hey, hey," he says quietly, letting the sounds permeate her skin. "It's okay, Kate. I'm here."

Shit, did their conversation do this to her? It's not like he had another choice - he never wants to lie to her, never - but if she dreams about him dying for her-

A deep shudder runs through her, and he keeps murmuring her name against her lips, over and over, telling her that he loves her, that he's here, that he's not leaving, until she finally heaves a long, shaky sigh, seems to settle in his arms.

She hasn't woken up at all.

He holds her for a moment longer, savors the weight of her body against his, the sweet smell of her freshly-washed hair. Jeez, this is not exactly encouraging him to go with the whole_ spend more time with your daughter _idea. He'd much rather spend all his nights with her, just in case she needs the comfort of his presence, just-

He sighs.

She's never going to agree to that.

Nope, not a chance. She will give him that gently scolding Beckett look and tell him that dreams happen, that nightmares happen, that she's slept alone for most of her life and she's always made it through the night, and _don't be silly, Castle._

Right. He won't be silly. He won't.

Just a nightmare.

He closes his eyes, adjusts his breathing to hers, and lets the slow rhythm of her inhales and exhales lull him back to sleep.

* * *

She makes them waffles in the morning. Waffles. He vaguely remembers her mentioning it - he thinks - among the amazing list of the things her mother used to make for Sunday brunch, but seeing it... Yeah. Wow.

It makes him realize that he's actually never been with someone who can cook.

Meredith never went anywhere near the kitchen, as far as he can remember; he was always the one handling Alexis's baby bottles, always the one making food when it had to be made. Meredith would eat out in bars and cafés and restaurants, would come home with pizza or whatever she'd found on her way home; obviously, it was hardly ever appropriate fare for a young child.

So, yeah. Castle never thought of himself as particularly gifted at cooking, but - there is a point in everybody's life when experience comes to outweigh the lack of natural ability.

Of course, by the time he married Gina, he'd gotten used to being the one in charge of the menus, with occasional help from his mother and daughter, and his second wife had made no attempts at changing things.

When he wasn't home to feed her, she would simply order in. He'd tried, once, to talk to her about it, to sing the praises of homemade food; Gina had looked at him coldly, and declared that her time was _too precious to be wasted cooking._

He'd given up after that.

But yes. His track record does make him extremely sensitive - maybe overly so? - to Kate's waffles. Kate's _delicious _waffles.

God. He wants to marry her waffles.

He tells her so, and she laughs out loud, the beautiful sound bouncing off her kitchen walls and wrapping around him, making him feel like all is right with the world.

"I don't know, Castle," she answers playfully. "My waffles are pretty hard to please. Not sure you'll manage to convince them."

He takes another bite - oh, _heaven_ - chews it so very slowly, until he cannot do anything but swallow. "I will do anything, Beckett. Anything for these waffles."

She laughs again, that clear, delighted sound, but the light in her eyes has shifted, grown tender, soft.

"Exaggerating a little, maybe?"

She's sitting on the other side of the table, leaning forward, resting her weight on her forearms; she's not even eating. Just - just watching him. Bright green eyes in the morning light, smile lingering on her lips, dark curls spilling over her shoulders.

So beautiful.

He leans in and presses his mouth to the corner of that smile, hovering close, content to simply bathe in her presence, her scent, everything that makes her Beckett.

"Kate," he tells her honestly. "I don't think you realize just how amazing you are."

Her lips quirk again, but the look on her face is still soft, a little awed, like she actually believes him. He feels a strange flare of pride in his chest.

"You say that now because I'm feeding you," she shoots back, but the teasing is half-hearted and hardly there at all, only faint traces in her voice. Like the weight of his love is too much, a blanket that envelops her and that she can't - won't? - shrug off.

He grins, takes a deliberate mouthful of his waffle. "Well, these are pretty amazing, too."

She smiles, teeth and tongue showing, this gorgeous thing that always takes his breath away. "If you're good, Castle, I might give you the recipe."

He pretends to think about it, shakes his head no. She lifts her eyebrows at him.

"No?"

"See, I don't think they will taste half as good if you're not the one making them," he tells her, falsely pensive.

"Oh, I see," Beckett answers laughingly, with a light roll of her eyes. But the faint blush crawling up her chest tells him all he needs to know.

She really does see.

* * *

Castle is inspecting the pile of paperbacks on her table, all novels that she took out of the stack by her bed this morning; she's decided that these six are her homework for the upcoming week.

So that she doesn't feel quite so useless anymore.

Not that there's anything wrong with lazing around and um, well, _enjoying_ Castle. Thoroughly enjoying Castle. Uh-huh.

But she needs more to her life. She knows she does, especially now that the first shock, the first daze of _resigning, _of handing in her gun and badge and telling Gates to _keep them_, has dissipated.

Her mother was never a stay-at-home mom, not even when Kate was a little girl; she was always working, always so busy and energetic and focused, and Beckett sometimes wonders if this is the main reason why she can't picture herself as a housewife.

Because it's so far away from everything that Johanna Beckett was to her.

Or maybe it's because she's been alone for so long. She's used to making her own decisions now, used to thinking of herself first and foremost, and caring for a family-

It's still something that she has trouble envisioning.

"Interesting choices," Castle observes, sliding the third book out of the pile and flipping through it. He's sitting at the table, and she leans over his shoulder, hands resting lightly on his biceps as she breathes him in, gets a look at the book.

Ian McEwan's _Atonement._

She read an amazing review of that one; she can't wait to get to it. She's got the movie too, somewhere in her apartment - she didn't want to watch it before she'd gotten a chance to read the book.

"Hey, Kate?"

Castle is twisting his neck to try and get a view of her; she deserts his back as she hums an answer, walks around him to sink into the next chair. Uh-oh. He has that thoughtful look on his face that generally means trouble-

"Have you ever thought of working as an editor?"

She starts laughing, stops herself when she sees the seriousness in his eyes. Oh.

"Um," she hedges, not sure where he's going with this. "No, Castle. I mean, obviously I've got _no _experience at all-"

"But you're a good reader," he counters enthusiastically, his whole face lighting up at the idea. Oh jeez. "You've got a really well-developed sense of what makes a good story. I mean, every time you and I have discussed-"

"Castle. We hardly ever agree-"

"Not true," he objects excitedly. "We agree on lots of things. And when we _don't _agree, it's even better, because you always make good points that lead me to reconsider mine."

She gapes at him, a little stunned, a little disbelieving (_better_, really? Even the fight they had last week about _Persuasion_?). Editing - she has no idea what the job would even be _like_-

"Kate," Castle says, voice calmer now, like he realizes he's only freaking her out. He puts a hand on her knee, his wide palm encompassing her skin, and the warm grip helps her focus. "I'm not saying this is what you should do. I'm just saying, you probably have everything it takes, and if you've got any interest in the job at all - you should give it a try."

He says that like it's easy. Like there are jobs everywhere just waiting for her.

Oh - he - there probably are. "I know lots of people," he adds with a shrug and a small smile. "Not just at Black Pawn, but bigger houses like HarperCollins or Sterling. So why not?"

Ah. She's not thrilled with the idea of using his connections to get anywhere, but she's got to admit - if she only wants to try it for a short time, get an idea of what the job is like, then...

"And even if you don't want to be an editor? All these houses have people whose job is only to read unpublished manuscripts and write reviews for them. You know, cut the wheat from the chaff? You wanna spend your summer reading, Kate, you can make some money out of it."

He stops speaking; he must know her well enough to give her the silence she needs to make up her own mind. She watches him for a long time, considering. His face is open, his eyes gentle; he's just waiting on her, trying so hard not to push.

She finds herself smiling against her will. "You really think I'd be good at it?"

"Yes," he answers immediately, so confident. "Yes, Kate. You're - god, you're one of the smartest people I've ever met."

Hmm. Obviously, he's in love with her, and a little blinded, but it's sweet anyway.

She releases her breath, takes a decision. "Okay. Sure. Why not."

"Yeah? I can call a couple guys I know, have them call you back as soon as they can-"

Kate leans in and cuts him off with her mouth, sliding her tongue past his open lips, against the ridge of his teeth, into the hot wetness of his mouth. He hums in surprise and then kisses her back with abandon, his fingers winding around her neck; the hand that was on her knee moves up to her waist, caresses the inch of exposed skin.

"You do that, Castle," she tells him breathlessly when she lets go, hovering at his jaw still. She drops a kiss there, then rises to her feet, walks away from him, sways her hips because she knows he's looking. And then she pauses, looks back at him over her shoulder, invitation and challenge both. "I'll be in my room."


	37. ThirtySeven: Monday

**Thirty-Seven**

* * *

He came by only an hour ago, gave her the whole morning and afternoon to herself, but that as soon as he showed up, that's all it took to find their way into her bed. Slow and lovely, her body meeting his as the rain drowned the world outside. He sits back against her headboard and does the crossword puzzle from yesterday, waiting on her. He brought his laptop thinking maybe he'd do some writing, but she appropriated it.

She presses her toes into his thigh and he lifts his head to glare at her, but she's studying his laptop with interest from the foot of the bed.

"You gonna give that back?" he mutters, reaching down and clutching her toes.

She shivers and glances up at him. "Let go of my foot."

"What? Why? You ticklish? And what are you doing on my laptop?"

"Google maps. And no. But let go - I went running before you came over, and I haven't showered-"

"So what?" he laughs. "Sweaty toes? Kate, I think maybe bodily fluids isn't-"

She glares at him and jerks on her foot, but he hangs on. "I have blisters on the ends of my-"

"Blisters?" He unwraps his fingers, but holds on to her foot, looking intently at her toes. White, puckered skin at the ends of her big toe and the one next to it. "Hey, your index toe - pointer toe? oh man, they need a word for this toe - it's almost longer than your big toe."

"Shut up," she grouses, curling her toes and tugging again.

"No, no. This is good stuff. Deformed toes. Who would've thought?" He squeezes her toe and inspects her blisters. "These hurt?"

"Not really. Sorta. Let go."

He releases her foot and uses his own to nudge her hip, then the laptop she's got balance on one knee. "So what are you doing?"

"Planning my route. Do you _mind_?" The sarcasm is so heavy in her voice that it sounds ridiculous. Probably what she intended anyway, because a little eye roll accompanies it too.

Castle pulls his feet up and gets on his knees, plants his fists in the mattress so he can lean in and smack her lips with his own. He can taste her grin. He's about to prove to her that he can thoroughly distract her when his phone rings from the living room. Where his pants probably are.

"Ah, you've been saved by Alexis," he murmurs, mouth at her cheek. "Lucky you."

She laughs. "Go get your phone."

* * *

He comes back to her bedroom with his jeans on and she shoots him an appreciative look from the bed. She's still got his shirt on though. He doesn't want it back. Yet.

"That was Alexis. She wants to meet us for dinner at six."

"Oh, six?" She winces and glances to the computer screen again. "Okay. Ah, we need to leave now then. We've only got an hour and a half."

"We need to leave?"

"Yeah. I wanted to walk, but it's still pouring out there, so we'll have to take a cab."

"It takes an hour and a half?" He tilts his head and she lifts her hand to him. He takes it, pulls her up off the bed. She comes in close, shutting the laptop and lifting on her toes to brush her mouth against his throat.

"I don't know how long it will take, but I don't want to be late meeting Alexis."

Castle dips his head to kiss the corner of her eye, slides his hands up to her waist. "Okay. So how about you give me my shirt?"

"Ohhh," she murmurs, turning her mouth to his. "Not enough time for that Castle. But I promise. It'll be worth it."

He laughs and cups her hips. "Already is."

* * *

The rain drizzles outside the cab's windows, creating a cocoon of muggy intimacy in the back seat. He slides his hand along the pleather and then over her thigh, stroking his thumb over her jeans, fingers curling at her hamstrings.

He loves encircling her leg like this, loves the way she leans into him just a little. They've crossed the Hudson inside the Lincoln Tunnel and come up onto the JFK in Union City. The cab takes a few turns and then stops outside an office building.

Kate leans in to the cab driver. "Can you wait for us? It won't take long."

"Meter's running," the guy mutters.

Kate nods and grabs Castle's fingers, prying them off her leg until they're only holding hands. He follows her out of the cab, sliding off the seat and out into the muted rain. His hair and skin are damp in seconds, and Kate's got one eye closed as she looks back at him, lashes clumped together.

"You coming?" she laughs, tugging on him as she heads for the front door.

"Yeah. Memories," he sighs, grinning at her.

She rolls her eyes and opens the front door into the lobby of the office building. He comes in right behind her and puts his free hand at her neck, brushing her hair out of the way so he can kiss the wet skin there. Mm, memories.

"Get off me, Castle," she laughs, shrugging her shoulders to dislodge him. "I'm trying to show you something."

He realizes she's got her phone in her hand, messaging someone, and he lifts up from her neck, glances around. "Uh. Okay. Lobby of an office building."

"Yeah, I don't think we can go up, but check out the directory. Seventh floor."

She stays where she is, just inside the door, and he heads for the elevators where the white directory lists the names of various companies housed inside the building. Seventh floor.

"Risinger Photography?"

She hums and he glances back at her. "Castle. I've got Ryan here-" She holds up her phone, wriggles it. "-and I've told him he has permission to email you-"

His phone vibrates once - right at that very moment - and he reaches into his back pocket, pulls it out, glancing at her.

"That Ryan?"

He looks at his mail and sees Ryan's official work email. "Yeah, with an attachment."

"Open it. That's what I did at Risinger Photography."

Suddenly he has this crazy-fierce sense that she's somehow slipped away and taken pornographic - but why would Ryan-

"No, Castle," she mutters. "Jeez. Just open the attachment."

How does she know-?

"Oh," he laughs, lifting his eyes quickly to her and then back to the photo on his phone. A - she's - "Tennis skirt?" And tennis racquet, and her foot up like- "Oh my - you are kidding me. You were a model?"

She sighs heavily and he looks back up at her; he knows the giddiness in his eyes isn't entirely merited, but this is _good_. As good as the weird toes and tattoo and the way one of her br-

"I was trying - I thought it would be easier than waitressing. It was just a summer job. Stop laughing."

"You're mortified. I find that hilarious."

"Shut _up_," she laughs.

"Why are you showing this to me? Oh wait. Did Ryan hold this over your head and you're just cutting him off at the pass-"

"No," she laughs. "Just thought - it seemed appropriate. I'd come here to the photography studio every week, and they'd have me do photos for catalogues. I got a lot of free clothes."

"Tennis skirt. Look how young you are. Wow. And hot. Can I say you're hot? How old are you here? Still, nice tight sweater-"

"Okay, eyes up here, Big Rick."

He laughs again and then the name, the picture, the modeling - it finally connects. "That case. Fashion Week, right? That was when Alexis's old baby-sitter found me. Ahhh, is that when the guys found this? Oh man. They didn't show me this? I'm supremely offended."

She's grinning back at him, the smile split wide across her face, all beautiful teeth and lips and the shine in her eyes that makes the whole day brighter. Despite the drizzle.

He reaches out and captures her by the hip, pulls her in against him. "You're cute."

"You're kind of lecherous," she laughs. "I was about Alexis's age-"

"Hush, hush. Don't bring my daughter into this when I'm trying to imagine you taking off that tight white sweater." He dips his head and meets her mouth, brushes past it for the column of her throat, his tongue tasting her skin.

She shivers hard and draws an arm around his neck, pulls herself up into him. "Cab's waiting out front."

"So?" He nibbles at her collarbone, glad for the v-neck of her tshirt, the way he can reach so much lovely, tender skin.

"So Alexis is waiting."

He groans. "There you go again, bringing my daughter into it-"

"Dinner, Castle. And then-"

"And then, and then?" he breathes out, lifting up from her chest to look at her.

"I might have that sweater and tennis skirt at home."

"You do _not_!" he gasps.

"No, but you have a good imagination."


	38. ThirtyEight: Tuesday

**Thirty-Eight**

* * *

She opens her front door in her underwear.

Castle lifts both eyebrows, stunned in the hallway, and she rolls her eyes at him and tugs him inside.

"Jeez, you're hot - wait. It _is_ hot. In here. It's roasting."

"Air conditioning is out."

She locks the door behind him and he pivots to watch her, the long line of her torso, the smooth flare of her hips. He finds his hands reaching for her automatically, instinct, loving the hot burn of her flesh against his palms.

She slides away, flashing him a look that is either _follow me_ or _don't you dare_ - he's still not managed to figure out the difference, but he's going with the follow thing, because he really wants to follow.

"When's it getting fixed?"

"Not sure. The maintenance guy showed up before I even knew it was out."

"Building-wide?"

"Yeah, he's working on it," she says, looking at him over her shoulder as she heads for the bedroom. "You coming?"

"You putting _on_ clothes or taking them off?"

She laughs at that, comes back to him, taking him by the hand. "You said you wanted to show me something."

"Yeahhhh. . .now I want to show you something else."

Kate presses a hand to his chest, fingers thrumming as she regards him. "And I do want to see it. . .but maybe later?"

He sighs, putting a hand around her waist to touch the bare skin of her back. He slides his palm up, lets his thumb tuck under her bra, stroking along her ribs with his fingers. She holds herself away for a moment more, and then shifts closer to him, no longer resistant, and presses her mouth to his throat.

"What happened to maybe later?"

"It's later."

* * *

So they missed it, but he can take her some other time.

Castle steps out of her shower and dries off, the muggy air already cloying. It's his second shower since he got here, but after the first one, she grabbed him - indecently - and pulled him back into her bed and so-

Ahem. Yes. A second shower was necessary.

They thoroughly missed it, but this is just as good. Or better.

Castle rubs his hair with the towel and drops it over the bar, then pokes around her products littering the counter, searching for-

Ah, this will work. Moroccan oil - just a little bit. He runs it through his wet hair and then searches the bathroom for his boxers and shorts, pulls them on. He swipes at his brow with his arm, sweating again, and finds his tshirt at the foot of her bed.

Then he stands in her bedroom doorway and studies her in the lines of light coming in through the shuttered windows.

He likes watching her curled up in the chair in her black underwear, a white tshirt pulled on over her green bra. He likes that it doesn't match, that he can see the outline of her bra, that she hasn't yet put on makeup, that she's dipping her foot in time to some internal beat as she reads.

"When'd that come?" he asks.

"Last night." She looks up from the manuscript. "I got home and a stack of ten were at the door. They called me this morning, while the maintenance guy was here, told me to read them in two weeks and write a one-page summary on each one, letting them know if I thought it was worth pursuing."

"So. . .what do you think?" He moves through her living room and sinks down into her couch. His head rests against the couch cushions and he lets his eyes follow the lines of her body, all angles as she begins to unfold from the chair.

Kate drops the manuscript on her coffee table as she comes towards him; she slides a leg over his hips as he slouches on the couch. Castle steadies her with his hands at her waist, waits until she's settled, straddling him, sitting back on his thighs.

"Dutton Books - they were the first ones to email me back, Monday, but I wasn't sure - still I told them go ahead. But Castle - they sent over young adult manuscripts - they have more unsolicited mail coming in than they know what to do with, and this was the genre they needed help in."

"Dutton. . .Dutton. . ." He tries to remember who it was he contacted at that publishing house, but it's hard to concentrate with Kate sitting astride him, her arms looped around his neck.

"Castle. Young adult. I thought you said it would be police procedurals, something I know-"

"Oh, well. I just sent around a general query; honestly, you're not going to get - usually not - just one genre to read."

"Well. I'm reading a stack of unsolicited mail - and really, Castle, I don't know that it's worth it."

"You don't have to read the whole thing, you know."

She shrugs and her knees squeeze his hips; he drops his hands to her thighs and rubs up and down, liking the smooth play of skin. She must have just shaved, because the night before-

"I feel like I owe it to - whomever, the writer - to read the whole thing," she sighs, glancing over her shoulder at the abandoned manuscript.

"I don't think you need to feel that way," he says, making an effort to follow the conversation. "You can always tell within the first five pages if it's going to be worthwhile."

"But what if it's just because I don't know young adult literature? I mean - I have no idea what passes-"

"You read Harry Potter, right?"

She nods. "And I liked it. But other than obvious magical properties, how am I supposed to judge these when I'm not an angsty teenager?"

"Don't think about it like that. Young Adult isn't a crap genre that gets all the authors who can't write well enough for adult fiction. In fact, I'd say you have to be better if you write for teens. You have to stand up to a lot more scrutiny, a lot more apathy. I mean - jeez - young adults are going to turn on you if you're even a bit disingenuous. So read it as a person who expects a good story, a character that rings true, an absence of parental involvement, and then, yes, some angst."

She leans back from their spot on the couch, her muscles taut with effort as she snags the manuscript, coming back up to hand it to him. "So this one. Read the first page, tell me what you think."

He's still a little dazzled by that acrobatic display, and the strength in her body, the feel of her knees as they squeezed him so she could hold on, the clench of her thighs, and he takes the pages reluctantly, his eyes riveted to hers.

She smirks. "Read it, Castle. We already did that."

"We could do that again."

"Later."

"How later is later? Because I'm getting the sense that your definition of later and my definition of later are somehow-"

"Let's finish this conversation so I know what I'm doing with the young adult stuff, okay? Then we can ponder the semantics of later."

He sighs and turns to the book, his eyes reluctantly moving away from her. As soon as he begins reading the words, the opening chapter, he realizes why she's hesitant about reviewing these unsolicited manuscripts.

She knows he was rejected a lot before he was published; she also knows the power a story can have in someone's life. She doesn't want to screw someone out of their one opportunity just because young adult novels don't hold that same sway over her that others do. (His. Like his do.)

She's trying to be fair, yes, but she's trying to leave room for the miraculous, the mystery, the power of words to open the reader's heart and make a lasting, amazing impression. To change a life, just as his changed hers.

He scans the pages, just to indulge her, and then lifts his eyes back to hers. "With great power, comes great responsibility."

She breathes out in a rush, sitting back. "Yes." Her eyes glance to the pages, then back up at him. "That's exactly it."

"You're being very responsible, Kate. Too responsible. This book is crap."

She laughs unexpectedly at that, an eyebrow quirking at him, and he tosses the manuscript over her shoulder and back onto the coffee table.

"But you knew that," he adds.

She sighs, still smiling, and shakes her head. "Yeah, I did. It jumps character point of view in the first ten pages, changes verb tense, and there's still no actual conflict. Not to mention, I can't even begin to care about this boy."

He grins. "The verb tenses - that's the editor's job. Don't worry if the writer can't spell or if the verbs are messy. With that one, well, yeah, it totally detracts from the story but-"

"There _is_ no story."

"Right. It detracts from the _writing_, and honestly, I don't think anyone wants to listen to a sixteen year old boy moan and whine about taking the ACT for the second time."

Kate brushes her fingers across his shoulders, down to his elbows, rests her palms against his forearms. "I sure don't. But I think I need to do a little research. Just to - get a sense of this."

"A sense of moaning and whining? Of sixteen year old boys? Because I can do whining and moaning-"

She squeezes, fighting a laugh. "No. Of young adult books. I might check some out of the library. Or ask Alexis. I know she's probably too old-"

"Oh no. Nope. Not too old. I caught her re-reading _Twilight_ a couple nights ago. _Twilight_, Kate. I'm - I'm so ashamed."

Kate does laugh at that, then shifts on his lap and puts her knee into the couch, gets off of him. He sighs in remorse, letting her see it, and Kate leans back in to brush her mouth against his, light and teasing.

"Come on. Since we missed whatever it was you wanted to do, let's go get pizza and take it back to your place. My apartment is burning up."

"I'm all sweaty again; I'm sticking to your couch."

"You are. And I might have a source of income once more - limited thought it may be - but I am not paying for you to take _another_ shower."

* * *

He's proud of how easily she gets along with his daughter when she's not trying so hard. She's naturally reserved, but Alexis can be too, and when it's real - like what he told Kate about the young adult novels - then Alexis responds.

They spend most of dinner talking about young adult literature - the stuff that Alexis has read and why she liked it, going so far as to dig down deep and expose the roots of a good story, why Harry Potter was so great, why others aren't.

Which means that Castle can't keep his mouth shut and let them have this moment; he's got to put in his two cents on the idea, let them know what he thinks attracts a reader and holds him.

After the pizza has gone cold, and the wine is room temperature, and Alexis has run upstairs and brought back down a host of novels for Kate to read - background information, she says - they move to the living room and start thumbing through some of the books.

John Green, Margaret Peterson Haddix, Laurie Halse Anderson - honestly, Castle hasn't read these, but now he's interested. He wants to read them with her and see-

Ah, no. She would probably not - yeah, he can't see Kate going for that.

"Oh, read this one-" he laughs, holding up a white book with a rainbow of feminine silhouettes along the top. "_An Abundance of Katherines_. I like it already."

Alexis laughs, Kate gives in with a roll of her eyes and takes the book. "Fine. I'll read this one first-"

"Wait, wait," he cautions, holding her by the wrist and glancing to Alexis. "Is it sad? Will it make her cry?"

"Castle," she hisses.

Alexis looks back and forth between them and then shrugs. "Most of his books made me cry. So. I don't know. Yes?"

Kate sighs, Castle sighs, and their eyes meet. She smirks at him, an eyebrow raised. And then she turns to Alexis. "Your dad's book made me cry. And now he's rubbing it in my face."

"Dad!"

"I am _not_," he retorts, tugging Kate by the wrist to pull her in close. "I'm - okay. A little bit. Sort of. But I tease because I love."

"Funny way to show it."

"Yeah, I've heard that before," Alexis huffs at him, but her eyes are bright - _really_ bright - and she's basically vibrating with excitement.

And then he realizes she's happy for him, happy because Kate is here and _with_ them, happy because they're sharing this, and happy because Castle off-handedly said he loved her, and Kate just accepted it without a flicker of hesitation.

"Castle?"

He glances over at her and she's asking him questions with her eyes, the set of her half-smile. Instead of answering, he leans in and presses a kiss, gentle and quiet, to her mouth.

She lifts two fingers to his jaw, a thing of hers, a way of guiding him that he's starting to like - no, _love_ - and she kisses him again, just as quiet, just as certain.


	39. 39 and 40: Wednesday and Thursday

**Thirty-Nine**

* * *

Castle holds the door open for the little old lady that lives one floor above Kate; Ms. Bradford apparently doesn't seem to be too handicapped by the lack of an elevator.

Kate waits for him on the sidewalk, a smile playing around her lips as he still holds the door. Ms. Bradford is giving him that big, deary smile; he expects her to reach up and pat his cheek at any moment.

"You doing okay in the heat, Ms Bradford?" Kate asks.

Ms Bradford steps slowly over the slightly raised threshold, going at it sideways, one foot at a time. "The heat? Oh, I just live like a bat in my cave, staying nice and cool."

"I mean with the air conditioner down yesterday and today," Kate says, sharing a smile with Castle over the lady's head. He resists the impulse to take Ms. Bradford by the elbow and propel her forward. He tried that last week and got a nasty glare for it.

"My air conditioner is just fine," Ms Bradford says, finally making it to the sidewalk. "Is yours out?"

"Oh. Yeah, guess it's not building-wide then." Kate makes a face at him; he told her to sleep at his place last night, but he guesses that face means she'll be coming over tonight. "I'm glad you still have air."

"Oh, me too. I'm sorry yours is out. That is a misery."

Castle laughs at the saying and nods. "It really is. I'm trying to convince her to spend the night with me-"

Ms Bradford gives him an arch look, one of those _you young people these days_, and he can practically feel Kate laughing at him as he shuts his mouth. They stand on the sidewalk watching Ms. Bradford shuffle off to the hairdresser, and then Kate slides her arm through his, despite the heat.

"I give up. Looks like I'm spending the night with you until they fix my AC."

He can't help grinning triumphantly at that.

* * *

Castle walks her to Dr. Burke's office and then hangs around the area, waiting on her as he plays his favorite game - people watching. The guy in the baseball hat is a tourist trying to look casual, cool, sophisticated. He got separated from his group. The guy in the nice slacks and dress shirt waiting at the bus stop is going for his first job interview - too polished for a guy who has to ride the bus, but also - nope. Wait. He's just returning from his job interview, that's why he doesn't look nervous. He looks supremely confident, actually, so he must have gotten the job.

Then the guy _leaves_ the bus stop even though Castle can see the bus just down the block; the guy heads off down the sidewalk, and now he's got no idea what that guy's story might be. Huh. He's hardly ever stumped.

So yeah. Hanging out here, waiting on Kate. They're supposed to go to a one-woman show at three, and he didn't feel like puttering around the loft all day with Alexis out and his mother making those constant comments about acting like a lovebird.

Yes. Lovebird. Fine. He is spending all summer with Kate. He doesn't even care what that looks like or what it says about his level of pathetic need-

Alexis did say it wasn't pathetic. She was very reassuring about it. They enjoyed breakfast together this morning at her favorite place with the blue-checkered tablecloths, and they sat at the table talking for two hours after they'd finished and the waitress had cleared their plates.

His daughter is so _old_. He's not sure when it happened, really. But her level of maturity has now attained a scary wisdom that he keeps finding himself relying on. She's irreplaceable, really. What is he going to do when she's ensconced in some dorm room at Columbia?

Castle picks up coffee at the end of the hour, heads back for the building where the therapist's office is. Good timing. Kate's just pushing open the door when he hits the corner; she glances to either side and sees him, starts walking in his direction.

She takes the hot coffee with appreciative eyes, but he sees the trouble behind them.

"Want to talk about it?"

He moves off down the sidewalk, knowing she'll follow, and she does, falling in step with him easily.

After a pause, she sighs. "The sessions always help, but-"

Castle glances over at her, watches her eyes regard the summer sky. "But?"

"But they always make me. . .mixed up. They stir things up."

"I guess they're supposed to. So you can see it in the light and deal with it."

Kate flashes him a surprised look. "Yes. Exactly like that."

He grins back, reaches out to touch the corner of her mouth with his thumb, not sure why he's doing it. "I've had my share of therapy, Kate."

"You have?" She blinks and then nods. "Right. You said that once."

He waits quietly, even though it goes against his nature, and it takes another block before she starts again.

"I admitted to Dr Burke that I was having. . .attacks of paranoia."

"You are?" It's the first he's heard of it.

"Sort of. I told you, remember?"

Uh. No?

"With the zombies, running in the park."

"That was one time-"

She shakes her head slowly, looks regretful, chagrinned. Ah. Okay.

"More than one time then. How many times?"

She rubs at her forehead. "Every time."

"_Every_ time? Kate. Stop running with the damn app."

"I tried that," she sighs. "And actually, the app is fun, and distracting too. It helps, weirdly enough, because I just blame the noises I hear and the people I'm certain are following me on the zombie game."

"Ah. But. People aren't following you, Kate."

"I - I know?"

"You're not sure about that?"

"No," she sighs.

"Kate," he sighs back, reaching down to slide his hand in hers.

"Yeah."

She's silent again for another few blocks; he can feel her tug ever so slightly on his hand as she steps around a subway grate or fire hydrant. The foot traffic pushes them off into the street and they weave their way around parked cars, parking meters, and mailboxes, up and down on the curb as they go.

Finally he steers them back onto the sidewalk, into the flow of pedestrians even though it seems to agitate her - the crowd, the closeness.

"Burke suggested that I have survivor's guilt," she says quietly.

He takes a moment to look intently at her, see how she's handling that. "You think he's right?"

"I think it explains a lot."

"Symptoms?"

"Anxiety, depression, social withdrawal, sleep disturbance, nightmares, physical complaints, and emotional outbursts."

"And guilt, I guess," he says unhelpfully. "And well, you know two of those are my fault. Possibly three."

"Two are-" She jerks on his hand, making him turn to look at her. But he's grinning and she narrows her eyes. "How are two your fault, Castle?"

"Sleep disturbance and social withdrawal? Totally on me. Also, physical complaints? It's hard to keep my hands off you."

Kate looks like she's trying to smother her smile, but it smirks up anyway. She nudges his hip. "Burke said that survivor's guilt is umbrellaed under PTSD."

"Ah, makes sense."

"So this is maybe a step down from full-blown PTSD, maybe?" She sounds hopeful; he knows she's frustrated by the inability to just _fix_ it. He is too, honestly. He wishes, still wishes, having lots of sex and loving someone with everything in your soul would actually erase all her problems.

But it doesn't. And really, no, it shouldn't. He's not her crutch.

"Kate?"

"Yeah," she sighs.

"For what it's worth. I'm glad you survived."

She laughs, a huff of a breath really, but she does laugh. "Well, thanks, Castle. Me too."

"Really?"

He hears her breath stutter, and then she presses against his side, forcing his steps to falter, stop. Castle glances over at her, and down - she's wearing flat shoes again, flipflops of all things, and he likes the way she fits into him like this.

"Really," she says quietly. "Really. Not even you could come up with a word that expresses how much."

* * *

**Forty**

* * *

"Mmm," she sighs as she sprawls over his chest, his heart beating too hard, rocking her with the force of it.

Castle draws his hand up her bare back, humming himself as she shudders around him, and then rolls her off. She laughs at him, her eyes closed, but keeps her legs tangled with his. He likes that, likes the way her fingers feather at his skin, as if she can't help herself.

"_Vidi, Vici, Veni_," she laughs, her voice light and dancing in the darkness of his room.

"What?" he mutters back, drawing a hand down between them, nudging her hip, brushing at her skin, touching. "You came, you saw, you _conquered_?"

"Well yes. But you weren't listening carefully. I switched the order, Writer B-"

He flattens her underneath him, growling as she laughs back at him, but then he realizes exactly what she _did_ say and he laughs as well, his mouth at hers as he chuckles.

"You saw, you conquered - you came?"

She vibrates with laughter under him, her hands coming up to claim his face, draw his mouth to hers again. As if he needs her help getting there.

"I think I did," she says finally. "More than once."

Okay, so he _knows_ she's working him over, he knows that. She's good at getting a rise out of him - um, in every way - but it still works. Even knowing that she's doing it, doesn't mean he can stop the way it makes him feel.

Proud. Stupid male pride. Still. _I did that._

"I think you need to switch up that order again," he says finally, truthfully. "More like, _Vici, Vidi, Veni._"

"Um, that's. . .I conquered, I saw, I came?"

"Yeah. You conquered long before you ever saw me-"

She suddenly squeezes her arms and legs around him, so tight it cuts off his breath, his words, but he wasn't feeling morose or anything. It was just - funny. It takes him a moment to get his elbows back under him, but she's still holding on.

"I conquered," she murmurs against his jaw, brushes her lips back and forth. She seems to enjoy the abrasion of his unshaved cheeks, and she presses her head hard into his, squeezing again. "Didn't mean to, Castle. I'm not looking to be your overlord here."

He laughs at that, tugs back to look at her. She's trying for a smile, almost succeeding. But the moment she sees his, feels him laughing over her, it seems to get easier. Her lips spread and the smile blooms.

"Looks like I'm the overlord right now," he brags, pushing his hips into her.

It's the last move he makes. She gets a flash of competition in her eyes and then she's got him on his back, stunned and aroused, and she's moving her hips in such a wicked, _oh Beckett_-

"I like Victor Hugo's version better," she says, in between nipping at his ear, scraping her teeth at his jaw.

"Victor - Victor Hugo?" It doesn't escape him, no matter how hot her body feels pressed against him, that Victor also means Conqueror. And that it is so damn hot that she _reads. _

"_Vini, Vidi, Vixi._"

"What - what does _vixi_ mean?"

"I lived."


	40. 41: Friday

**41**

* * *

"Beckett," he exclaims from somewhere in her living-room, the surprise and delight in his voice making her eyes narrow in suspicion, and wonder once again why she let him in.

Right. Dinner. He wants to take her out to dinner, and she wanted to finish this chapter first, and so she let him into her apartment. Big mistake.

Either letting him in, or deciding that she had to finish chapter five of _Werewolf Boy Versus the Full Moon._ Really. What kind of title is that?

"You've been _holding out_ on me," he goes on, and she can hear the little boy's glee that she knows to be suspicious of.

Oh, jeez. What has he found now?

Kate glances back at her unfinished chapter, sighs regretfully, and gives up. There's no reading with that man around; she just needs to accept the fact and work around it. She's putting the manuscript on top of her bedside table and sliding off the bed when Castle comes in, beaming and holding -

Ohhhh...great.

"I can't believe you never told me you _played the guitar_," he says, and it's obvious that he's shooting for accusing, but the merriment dancing in his eyes completely ruins the effect. He's holding her guitar by the neck, waving it towards her like it's some sort of evidence to a crime she's committed. Kate reaches out, takes the instrument from him before he can break it.

Wow. She's kind of forgotten she still has that thing.

Okay, no, not forgotten, but-

She hardly ever has time to practice, and at some point - at the beginning of the year, she thinks - it felt like the guitar was glaring at her from the corner of her room, judging her lack of playing - and seriously, she did not need one more person/thing judging her right then - and so she buried it at the back of one of her closets. Which is probably where Castle found it.

The snoop.

He's looking at her now, that speculative glimmer in his eyes, a smile playing around his lips. Like he's trying to figure out how much he can get away with.

He probably is.

"Play something for me," he asks suddenly, and it's no longer the excited voice of the nine-year-old - it's the deeper, subtler, more entrancing tones of Castle, the man, the one that plays her body much more adeptly than she plays that guitar, just as rich and dark as when he murmurs against her skin and makes her forget who she is.

She hates that he can make her breathless just like that, a look and a handful of words, nothing more. All it takes.

She doesn't want to play, but she's not sure she can tell him no when he's regarding her like that. Like she's a supernatural creature about to shape-shift (and he, of course, is the man who wants to believe). "Castle," she hedges, trying to gather her arguments. She hasn't played in a year, she was never amazing in the first place, she mostly taught herself and only knows a couple songs-

"Come on," he cajoles, eyes burning into her. "You could be great, you could suck; I wouldn't care. Just the fact that it's you - that will do it for me, you know."

"I already know what does it for you," she says, lips curling into a smile.

He shoots her a hot look back, eyes flaring. "Oh no. Not-uh. You are not distracting me that easily."

"Oh? I thought I was."

"Play. Play a song. Anything. Come on. I want to hear you."

And in that demand - petulant though it may be - she also hears what he's really asking, really demanding. _I want to know you._

And it's not that she doesn't want him to know her; she's fine with him knowing her. Mm, he does quite a good job knowing her. But the music, the guitar - it's too intimate. It's hers and hers alone; her father taught her to pick things out, but her mother was the one who listened, sat in the living room and worked while Kate played-

It's too much. It's personal.

Yes, _crap_. She hears what she's saying.

Kate closes her eyes for an instant, can't believe she's doing this to him still - blocking him out - and so she heaves a sigh of agreement. "Fine."

Castle makes a sound of pure anticipation that really _doesn't help_; he sinks to the other side of the bed, watching her intently, and she stares down at her guitar. She never plays for anybody now, not after her mother's death.

"Are you going to sing too? Because I know you can sing."

Arg. Castle. "Yes," she sighs, rolling her eyes at him.

Just a song. Just let him - get it out of his system. She realizes she doesn't even know what Castle likes to listen to, what his genre preferences are; these are conversations they haven't really had. They should. It seems important.

She sits down on the bed, her back to him. Her left fingers have curled into a G chord, mostly without her realizing it; she tries to think what could come next, anything, a chord, a chunk of lyrics, but her mind is desperately blank. She shakes her head, laughs ruefully. "Castle, I can't think of-"

"How long have you been playing?" he asks curiously.

Oh. "Um, since I was - fifteen? No, wait, fourteen, actually. Moody teenaged girl thing. I appropriated it from my dad, along with his electric typewriter, which I thought was so cool."

"Did you write papers on an electric typewriter?" he laughs.

She smirks back at him, sees that little flash of lust in his eyes. This whole reader-reviewer thing is turning him on, isn't it? Imagining her in front of a typewriter. . .

"No. I wrote poems. Terrible, teenagery poems-"

"Oh my Go-"

"-which I have _burned_, Castle. Ashes." He pouts and it makes her want to stick her tongue out at him. She strums the guitar instead. "I stuck with the music though. Dad taught me a few chords. But I didn't own my own guitar until I was in college. My mom bought it for me. Graduation present."

Ah. It still stings a little.

Castle looks at the instrument she's holding, something like reverence in his eyes. "This one?"

She smiles at him, runs her fingers over the strings again. "No, not this one. It was only so I could have my own in college. It wasn't an amazing instrument, but I think I still have it at my dad's, somewhere. Couldn't bear to sell it, even when I'd stopped using it completely."

He hums, the sound soft and understanding, and he slides closer to her on the bed, brings his hand against the cedar wood of the body. "So this one you bought for yourself?"

"Yeah," she answers, remembering the cold wind of that autumn day, the sudden instinct that had pushed her inside the music store. "Life stuff. Working too much, not sleeping enough, but I'd just made detective and.. I don't know. First paycheck, I think. I was walking home that day, and I passed this music shop that was close to my old place. I stopped to look in the window, just for a moment - and the next thing I knew, I was going home with this beauty slung over my shoulder."

Castle grins, looks up at her.

"What?" she says smirks. "Don't tell me my guitar isn't gorgeous, Castle. Not if you wanna hear me play."

"I just think it's cute," he tells her shamelessly, doesn't even have the decency to look a little afraid. "You're cute. And yeah, it's gorgeous when you're holding it."

She narrows her eyes at him, but nope, not working. Not working at all. None of her old moves seem to put him off any longer.

"So," he goes on. "What's the first song you learned to play?"

Oh, he's good. He's very good. She's been picking out chords this whole time, rather unconsciously. _Cute trick, Castle._

Kate huffs a laugh, puts her fingers in the right position - eighth fret - and stops. "You're never going to stop, are you? I'll never hear the end of it."

"You'll never hear the end of it if you don't _play_."

"Maybe if someone would stop talking-"

He zips his lips, pretends to throw away the key. Right. Like that will hold.

"Okay. So - it was a sad song. I heard it from a girl performing in Central Park. Remember, I was a moody teenager-"

He mimes for her to get on with it; she bites her lip, takes a deep breath.

Her voice is quiet as she starts, the notes-half remembered, but it gets better as she goes. It's a simple tune, but she still messes up a couple times, which is to be expected.

She can't look at him though. Not while she plays. But she can feel him watching. It's not as profoundly intimate as she expected, and it's a relief to think that maybe he does know her so well that this is just one more aspect of her personality and not some life-altering-

Her brain finally stops over-thinking it as she concentrates, the melody and the lyrics working their magic on her.

She always, _always_ gets into this song, she's not sure why - but today is no exception. When she reaches the last lines, soft and asking after love, Kate is breathless and her heart is pounding, and she's staring down at the guitar, at her hands, and still half-caught in the song.

The last chord echoes through the silence of her room, through the body of the guitar, and she presses her lips together, finally gathers herself enough to look up at Castle.

He's staring at her, stunned, his mouth parted, his eyes almost feverish.

"Kate," he murmurs, his voice raspy, blinking.

She stares back at him, almost more surprised by his response than her own.

"God, that was - that was _amazing_," he says slowly, as if dazed. "Oh, Kate." He seems unable to find words, and that's actually the thing that comforts her, that makes her feel good about this. She's struck Richard Castle silent.

"It's a beautiful song," she agrees, her chest now humming with pleasure.

"Not - not just the song," he opposes, shaking his head, almost indignant. "You. You, Kate.'

She doesn't know what to say to that. She's too rational to honestly expect that her rusty playing even approaches this level of - of adoration from him, but he just shakes his head at her.

Castle reaches for the guitar, takes it from her hands, resting it on the floor, against the wall. And then he turns back to her, his arms sliding around her, tugging her against him, _kissing her_ with all the passion she gave that guitar, like her playing released it into the room and he's pressing it back into her body.

There's something so intense about it, the slide of his lips across hers, the mesmerizing swirl of his tongue, the pull of his mouth and the strong curl of his hands around her cheeks-

She moans into his throat and pushes him back into the bed, gasps when he flips them so he lays over her. His knee settles between her legs, and she arches against him; his fingers are already at work, so light and quick, under her shirt, strumming her ribs.

"Castle," she pants. "Dinner-?"

"We'll order in," he growls back. "You can't play that song and then pretend nothing happened, Kate Beckett."

Oh, he thinks she-

"Wasn't - wasn't serenading you," she mutters, eyes slamming shut when hand dips low, teasing and torturing and-

"Oh, yes you were."

The thumb on his other hand sneaks under her bra and she gasps, completely loses her train of thought, her thigh hooking around his hip in something that she would like to believe is retaliation, but is really just instinct.

He strokes the now-exposed skin of her abdomen with his fingers, his teeth nibbling at her jaw, and oh, _shit_, this is good. So very good.

"Every note," he murmurs across her skin. "Every note was for me."

She runs her hands up his back, presses him down harder into her. "So you think."

"Don't ruin it, Beckett. You made love to me in song-"

Oh jeez, that's corny, and yet his mouth travels low, and she shivers - at his tongue, at the delicious words, her whole body taut and ready for him to love her back, and sure, sure, Castle, but she has an entirely different serenade in mind.


	41. 42: Saturday

**42**

* * *

He groans at the feel of fingers skimming his ear, poking inside. "Go 'way."

A laugh and a brush of lips, but really, too heavy. He is too heavy and it's too early and Kate's at home, her home, and-

Oh. Kate.

He opens his eyes, catches the clock numbers just past her face. "Kaaaate. It's seven in the morning."

"Alexis called me."

He jerks, arms pushing him upright, staring at her. "What?"

But she's shaking her head, stroking a hand down his back. "She invited me to Father's Day weekend."

Castle blinks, disoriented.

She looks amused and that's not fair. Too early for amused at him. "Castle. The Hamptons. Father's Day weekend."

Right. He huffs out a laugh and sits up. He sorta forgot. "Oh. Yeah. Yeah?"

She nods and sits back at his hip, waits for him to wake up. "Yeah."

"You coming?"

"Is it okay if my dad comes down Sunday night for-"

"Of course," he says in a rush, reaching for her waist and her neck, pulling her in for a kiss, thinking better of it with his morning breath, and just hugging her hard against his chest. "Of course your dad can come. Does he want to spend all weekend with us?"

"No," she murmurs, laughing a little. Her hands come up to his back. "He's not much a beach kind of guy."

He twists them back down to the bed, falling on top of her, and she shakes her head at him, stroking her hands up his shoulders to his face.

"What are you doing, Castle?"

"We're not leaving for another few hours. Plenty of time." He grins, decides to just go for it and kiss her. She tastes like toothpaste and coffee, and her tongue strokes against his teeth.

She pulls back then, fingers at his ears. "You should pack though."

"It'll take fifteen minutes."

"Alexis is awake out there," she adds.

He sighs, drops his forehead to hers, closing his eyes, thinking about that. "Okay. Fine. I'll get up and shower and pack-"

"I can help," she murmurs, darting her mouth to his cheek, the corner of his eye. "I'm very good at showering."

* * *

With the window down, she lets the wind batter at her fingers as he drives. New feeling, being in the passenger seat while Castle takes the wheel. Different.

She's relaxed - more so that she expected. Helps that he's a smooth driver, no mashing on the brakes, no surging forward. He holds the steering wheel at five and seven, cradling it, and for some reason, she keeps picturing her thighs in his hands when he spreads her over his lap-

Shit. She really shouldn't. Alexis is in the backseat.

"What are you watching?" she says, turning her head to look at the young woman.

Alexis rolls her eyes on a sigh. "_America's Next Top Model_. I'm addicted."

Kate laughs, but Alexis points to her father.

"It's his fault though."

"Castle?" she laughs, glancing to him. "You got your daughter hooked on _ANTM_?"

He shoots a sly smile her way. "That and slowtap."

"Slowtap?"

"_SLOTAT_," he says slowly. "_Secret Life Of The American Teenager._"

She groans, pressing her palm to her forehead. "Are you kidding me?"

"I _told_ you that you had nothing worry about. My DVR puts yours to shame."

"Somehow I was expecting. . .I don't know. Like a couple episodes of some terrible Sci-fi show you can't bear to erase-"

"How about _Glee_ instead?" Alexis interrupts, sitting forward and propping her elbows up on both of their seats.

Kate reaches back and squeezes that elbow with a smile. "_Glee_. Hm, that's appropriately shameful, sure."

"Hush. I like the music," he mutters.

"Of course you do."

"The arrangements I mean."

"Uh-huh," Alexis joins in. "That's why you downloaded both the _Glee_ version and the Kesha version-"

"Stop spilling all my shameful secrets," he gasps, his eyes flickering away from the road, towards his daughter, glancing to Kate, back to the road again. He is actually blushing, very slightly, but his lips are quirked up.

He looks happy. Very happy. She can't explain it better than that, the way he looks likes he's just on the edge of crazy-amazing joy but still trying to hold back, keep it under control. Happy Father's Day, Castle.

She slides her hand over the console and squeezes his thigh, smiling at him.

"_And_," he says slowly, dropping a hand over hers but talking to Alexis again. "If you're going to mention that particular artist, you must say her name correctly."

"Correctly?" Kate asks, turning her head in time to see Alexis roll her eyes. "Kesha? Is it really Keisha? I thought maybe so, but-"

"No, it's not," Alexis interrupts. "Dad got this from_ Glee_ and he thinks he's so funny-"

"I _am_ so funny-"

"-but he's not-"

"It's Key-dollar sign-HA."

"Key, dollar siii..." Kate laughs, hard, suddenly getting it. Ke$ha. Right. "Actually, sorry, Alexis, that was funny."

"Ha! (as in Key-dollar sign-HA!)"

"Castle," she warns, lifting an eyebrow. "Once is funny. Twice is asking for it."

"Third time deserves a spanking," Alexis smirks, and apparently this is one of their family in-jokes, some phrase Castle must have used at some point, or that they appropriated from a book or movie, but Kate's face flames and she bites her bottom lip.

Castle shoots her a look that says he knows _exactly_ what she's thinking of, and when, and how she-

Shit.

Alexis suddenly groans. "Are you _kidding_ me? I do _not_ need to know this stuff, guys. Parents, jeez. There is a line here."

She leans back into her seat; Kate can see her putting her earbuds in her ears, and even though her words were laced with huffiness, she still doesn't look that put out; she looks secretly pleased and amused and-

And she said parents?

What-

No.

Just.

In general. Right? Just parents in general.

Castle laces his fingers through hers and she glances over to look at him.

He's grinning at her; eyes darting back and forth from her to the road, as if he doesn't want to miss a second of this.

She rolls her eyes, but-

No good. She's both mortified and aroused and weirdly emotional all at the same time.

"Jeez, you Castles," she mutters. This is a different kind of family. Is it wrong that she can see just how she fits in? How it will be for them in the future. . .

* * *

From the kitchen, Castle watches her head upstairs, hopes he did right by putting her bag in one of the guest rooms. The one nearest his, of course, but still. . .

Alexis hooks her arm through his and tilts her face up to look at him, still smiling that little girl smile he's always loved.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey, pumpkin. Thanks."

"I figured it wouldn't be much of a father's day celebration if Kate wasn't here."

"You don't mind her and her dad coming-"

"Not at all," Alexis says, bumping his hip with hers. "It's your day, right?"

"Hey now. It's my _weekend._ And don't you forget it." For old time's sake, and maybe to prove he still can, Castle drags Alexis in her socked feet across the slick bamboo floor, heading for the freezer. "Ice cream for lunch?"

"Dad. Don't you wanna. . .I don't know. . .watch your girlish figure?"

He laughs, turning back to look at her, all impish smile and bright blue eyes. "I can just work it off."

She smirks, lets go of him to reach down for the freezer drawer at the bottom of the fridge. "That's gross, Dad."

"Wow. That was not what I meant." Castle shuffles back so she can pull the freezer drawer all the way out and they both stare into its depths. Frozen foods are pretty much the only thing they've got to eat right now.

"Have to go grocery shopping-"

"Oh no you don't," he laughs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her into his side. "I meant - I'll run on the beach or swim or something. What did _you_ mean?"

Alexis laughs and cuddles in at his side. "I meant it looks like. . .jeez, Dad, don't make me _say_ it."

"Say what? I am clueless-"

"You know exactly what I mean. You guys are pretty much. . .gross. All the time. So. Um. I'm sure you're. . .burning calories."

Well that is gross. "Alexis."

"You made me say it. Why in the world do I have to explain that to you? Why isn't your brain already going there, straight to the gutter every time? I mean, come on, Dad, you're-"

"Okay, okay. Enough. I need to go wash out my ears. And scrub my brain. Ew. Alexis."

She huffs at him and reaches inside for a tub of Ben and Jerry's, wrinkling her nose. "Family Discussion is over. I'm not talking about this anymore."

"You were the one who started it."

"You were the one. . .argg. . .shut up. Now you're doing it on purpose."

He laughs at her and she opens the drawer looking for spoons. He's pleased when she pulls out three, runs them under the faucet to clean them off quickly. Three spoons. It makes him stupidly, ridiculously happy.

"What's he doing on purpose?" Kate asks, coming down the stairs. He has no idea what she thought about having her own room, but she doesn't seem upset.

Alexis starts dishing out ice cream. "Making me talk about you guys having sex."

Kate stops in the middle of the stairs; he can see her mouth drop open and he shoots Alexis a glare. "Not funny."

"It is too. Look at her face. Priceless."

"You guys do this a lot, don't you?" Kate says, starting her descent again, composed once more. "You mess with each other."

"And now we mess with you," Alexis says, lifting her head from the ice cream to give Kate a predatory look.

Castle's heart stutters. Because no, however it may look to an outsider, it's not mean, it's not vicious, it's Alexis inviting Kate inside their family life, adopting her.

"This means I get to mess back though," Kate says, and she lifts a slow eyebrow, giving Alexis a long look.

Alexis grins back. "True."

"You ready for that?" Kate asks, leaning her elbows against the kitchen island. She's not even looking at Castle, but he gets the feeling this is halfway intended for him.

Alexis smirks. "Bring it on."

God, he loves her. And Kate. Both of them. This is amazing.


	42. 43: Sunday

**43**

* * *

"I like this," he murmurs.

Kate laughs at him, shifting against the chair. "The beach is good."

"Yeah I meant more. . .you know, waking up with you this morning and hanging out, all of us, and making plans for dinner and just. . ."

She pushes her sunglasses up on her face to see him better, finds herself squinting into the sun so she drops them back. "You like playing house. Admit it." Though she has to admit she liked the look on his face last night when they came upstairs and she'd unpacked her bag in his room. Priceless.

"You are ruthless today," he remarks, but he's grinning. "Alexis's fault, isn't it? She likes to mess with me. I mess with her. We've roped you into it."

"Don't blame it on Alexis," she smiles. "You're just setting yourself up right and left today."

"You're right. This is really just a normal degree of Beckett messitude."

"That's not a word."

"It is now."

"You can't just decree-"

"I'm a best-selling author. I can do whatever I want. Also, you look delicious in that two piece."

"You know, I think those last few sentences have just summed you up perfectly, Castle." She watches his face to make sure he's not taking this seriously, that he's still enjoying the tease, the word play which is sometimes better than foreplay.

Sometimes.

"Wait, hold on. I can't remember what I said. I'm a best selling author - yes, true. What else was in that - and you're delicious?"

"You're a best-selling author. You do what you want-"

He groans. "Come _on_."

"Like I said, you're setting yourself up for these."

"I am. I really am. I'm usually a lot more agile-minded than this. I think it's that scrap of fabric you're unashamedly calling a swimsuit even though we both know it's more like lingerie."

"It is not," she huffs back at him, but she slides her foot across the sand, watches his eyes follow the line of her leg.

And then he totally ruins it by growing serious. "You still have a bruise on your back, Kate. Is it - should you see someone about that?"

She swivels her head to him, stunned, and lifts up from the low chair to touch her back. "It doesn't hurt."

"But should it still be bruised?" He's reaching behind her too, brushing his fingers across her lower spine.

"Remember the photo with me and my mom going ice skating?"

"Lacing up your skates, yeah." He gives her a soft, indulgent little smile.

"I fell on my knee that night and busted it pretty badly. It swelled up and it was bruised, but I could walk around. It took nearly six months for the bruise to go away entirely."

His palm flattens on her back, his thumb scraping across her ribs. She can't see his eyes because of his sunglasses, but the hard lines of his face soften. He releases her, putting his elbows back in the sand again, sprawled out on a towel next to her.

"You still look delicious in that bikini."

She smirks, reaches over the arm of the chair to stroke her fingers through his hair. "And you look - sunburned, Rick."

"Wanna rub me down?" He's wriggling his eyebrows; she knows he is even if she can't see them exactly. He picks up the sunblock and dances it at her.

She takes it, popping the top with her finger. "Hell yeah."

* * *

Kate's father, Martha, Alexis. Kate.

Castle rubs a hand through his hair and watches them all in the kitchen. His mother showed up at lunch time with these great fruity drinks and then he and Kate might have had - uh, not too many, no, just enough really - and Alexis did these beautiful swan dives off the diving board, so he started doing backflips and Kate was grumbling about Archimedes and how much water he was displacing, to which he responded that this wasn't a bathtub but he would like nothing better than to-

And yeah, Alexis splashed him for that and they all wore themselves out, and so now they're all in there making dinner for him. Wait.

"Jim," he calls, stepping forward. Her father turns to him with a look of question. "Why don't we let them figure it out? Father's Day, right?"

Jim rubs his hands on the dish towel, hands it to Kate with one of those smiles - he knows those smiles, those reassuring _I'm the parent here_ smiles. Jim follows him out of the kitchen and towards the sliding glass doors, which have been open all day.

He slides the screen back and they step onto the back porch.

"Too many cooks in the kitchen," Jim starts. "Used to be just me and her."

Oh, so they're going to do this today? Okay. Sure.

"Know that feeling pretty well," he says. "And then my mother moved in with us when Alexis was fifteen."

"Oh, I didn't know that."

He shrugs, then heads for the outdoor bar that connects to the pool. He feels like he's just now seeing all this - brand new eyes, all that sentimental stuff - since showing it off to Kate yesterday. The infinity pool, the intricate tile work, the changing rooms just past the house, the bar-

Ahh, shit. He's not thinking. He was just about to offer her father a drink. Wow. He is - okay, he's more rattled by this than he thought.

He grabs two bottles of water from the mini fridge instead, hands one wordlessly to her father. Jim takes it and cracks it open, pulls a long gulp as they both stand at the railing.

Castle leans his elbows against the wood and wonders who's supposed to start.

"Kate's happy," Jim says finally.

"Good," he grunts, surprised at the direction Jim has led them. Very good. Good. That's. . .all he really wants, when he distills all this down to its essence. He just wants her happy. Well, alive first. And then happy. Or maybe no, happy first-

Jim nods, takes another gulp of water. "That's all I got, Rick."

He finds himself relaxing, even with that faint tint of humor to Jim's voice. "Well that was easier than I expected. No greeting at the door with a shotgun, no-"

"That's because I don't need a gun. Kate carries her own."

"Not lately she doesn't." Rick stills, winces as he looks at Jim.

"Good," Jim says quietly, intense. "That's good too."

Yeah. Yeah, it is, isn't it?


	43. 44: Monday

**44**

* * *

She wakes him with her eagerness, the rush of his name at his neck, the fluttering of lashes at his skin.

"Castle, Castle, wake up, come on."

He grunts and wants to say no, _no, let me sleep_, but it's impossible to say no when her voice is this beautiful blend of breathlessness and excitement, a level of excitement, in fact, that he might never have heard from her. He rolls over, manages to unstick his lashes, peer an eye open at her.

She looks entirely too awake for whatever early hour this is, her face animated, her eyes bright, her hair in a ponytail; some strands have escaped and are now clinging to the glistening curve of her neck. Hmm. Sweaty. She went running?

She kisses him, too hasty, her mouth sliding sloppily against his, and then she's tugging him up, a hand at his neck, the other at his back even as he protests.

"Stop grumbling," she tells him with more of that beautiful, childlike enthusiasm. She sounds like - she sounds like him, actually.

She moves away, grabbing the tshirt he wore yesterday and carelessly slung onto the back of a chair, throws it back at him. "Put that on. You're wearing shorts, right?"

This is entirely too much for his level of awakeness. He yawns, pushes back the covers, looks down. Yeah, he's wearing shorts, but they're sleeping shorts and no underwear underneath-

"That'll be fine," Kate says encouragingly, as if she can read his thoughts. "Come on, Castle, it's gonna be over soon."

What's gonna be over soon? What on earth can be going on at the ungodly hour of-

His eyes find the alarm clock, and he stills in the process of sliding the tshirt over his head. Ugh, Beckett, _five-thirty? Really?_

"Castle," she says impatiently, coming close again, her fingers curling at his knee, tugging.

He sighs and finishes pulling on the tshirt, rubs his hand down his face, like it's going to magically wake him (of course it doesn't). Kate softens, leans in to brush her mouth to his cheek, to his lips; he puts his hand at her waist to keep her there, nuzzle his nose against hers. She'll make fun of him for his girliness later, but he does need this, the tenderness, the closeness, the simple pleasure of being together. He doesn't like being rushed-

"Where are your shoes?" she asks softly when they part, and he tries to hold his sigh back, tries to think.

"Never mind," she says after three and a half seconds. "You don't need shoes." She laces their hands together, nudges him towards the door, and he goes, he goes, he will go anywhere she takes him, without even asking questions.

Especially if she's woken him up at freaking five in the morning.

Kate leads them out of the house, through the little path that opens onto the beach. The morning air is cool and lovely, not cold, just invigorating, the smells of the grass and the surrounding trees rising up, filling his lungs. Oh, wow. Wow, this is amazing.

The sand _is_ cold, though, and he hisses when they get to the beach, his feet curling up against the aggression. Kate turns back to look at him, laughter in her eyes, and such tenderness too; his heart races in his chest.

"Sun's rising," she says, the only explanation she offers.

And she's right; behind her, the sky is paling, night blue receding, almost gone already, overridden by the striking morning light. It makes Kate's eyes look greener than he's ever seen them, the flecks of brown shining like gold as she regards him. No one else is here; the beach is empty, silent but for the lulling ebb of the waves, the occasional squawk of a seagull.

Her fingers curl against his, trail him after her; she walks slowly, head turned upwards, like she's drinking it in, all of it, the early morning at the beach, the colours and the quiet, the world awaking for them. He's stunned, struck silly by this amazing woman who has just dragged him out of bed so he could watch the sunrise with her; he doesn't know what to say.

"Kate."

She swirls back to him, her smile beaming everywhere, in her eyes, the curl of her mouth, the arch of her eyebrows. He cannot breathe. "Gorgeous, isn't it?" she breathes, and he hears it again, this little girl pleasure that he finds absolutely irresistible, the awe and the joy that cut right through him. Damn it, and now this stupid Leona Lewis song makes sense, _keep bleeding love_ or some equally inane lyrics, but he can feel them-

He tugs on Kate's hand and she surges up against him, presses that bright smile to his mouth, the hum of her laugh tumbling down his throat. "There's something else you have to see," she tells him, a mischievous edge to her eyes, so goddamn beautiful.

She leads him farther along the beach, closer to the wet sand that the waves are still licking; she stops first to take off her running shoes, her socks, sighs in satisfaction when she digs her toes into the sand. Ah, he wants her in bed with him, under him, above him, anything-

"Look," she says, still smiling. His chest puffs up with it, misplaced pride surely, but he can hear Jim's words in the back of his head. _Kate's happy. _Oh, thank you, god, thank you-

And then he follows her eyes, sees it. A message written on the sand.

_You're not the only one that do not get everything right, _it reads, and because Castle has a big soft heart, because it's five in the morning and he's still not awake all the way, he finds himself melting a little. Although-

"Should be _who_," he can't help noticing out loud. And then he sees Kate grinning at him.

"Should be _does_," she shoots back, and crap, she's right, and how can he have missed that?

"I think it makes it more real," she adds with a light shrug, her eyes traveling over the words again. "None of us are doing things exactly right, even when we're trying to reach out to each other. But we keep trying."

His chest is full, and his words are all muddled, so he does the next best thing. He goes to her, wraps himself around her, waiting for the moment when she lifts her head, meets his eyes.

And he kisses her.

* * *

She's laughing at something Castle said, something silly no doubt, as she turns the key inside the lock of her apartment, her bag over her shoulder, but the moment she pushes the door open, before she's even gotten a glimpse inside, Kate can tell something's off, something's wrong.

The feeling spreads like wildfire, licks in her guts, and then she's yanking Castle behind her, forceful, not even flinching when his back slams into the corridor wall.

Her hand instinctively searches for her gun, but she doesn't have it, _not anymore_, and her chest is immediately flooded with both anger and helplessness.

Fuck, fuck.

"Castle, stay back," she whispers fiercely.

He opens his mouth to argue but she presses her palm to his lips, refusing his objections, begging him with her eyes.

The moment she releases him, he's speaking anyway, voice quiet but intense, pleading. "Kate, don't go in there. Let's call the cops and go back to the lobby."

_Call the cops._

Oh, that slices right through her, re-opens a wound that she doesn't remember getting in the first place. She grits her teeth, forces herself to look at it through Castle's eyes; she doesn't have a gun; she doesn't know who might be in there; normal people - _civilians_ - do not walk right into their apartments when it's obvious they've been broken into.

Right. Right.

She looks at him, the blue eyes that she loves and that are beseeching her, imploring her not to be careless with her own life - _she has a life now_ - and she relents.

"Let's take the stairs," she says, the words abrasive against her throat, but the look in his eyes, the gratitude, the dizzying relief - it's almost worth it.

* * *

They wait at the bottom of the staircase. Kate is jittery, pacing, but she's _safe_; it's everything Castle wants, needs, and he drops his phone back into his pocket after texting Alexis and his mother to go on home without him.

He leans back against the wall, watches Kate, the long, graceful line of her body reminding him of a caged animal; in the end she stops moving and settles right next to him, not touching, only close enough that he can feel the heat radiating off her body.

Heat.

Such an appropriate name he came up with.

The lobby door opens then, pushed by the Robbery detectives from the 12th, two guys that Castle's not familiar with; but Kate knows their names and, from the look they exchange, the men know her too. She explains the situation, meeting their doubt with her cool efficiency, and they all go up again.

Only this time they both stay back, Kate turned civilian and waiting with him in the hall.

The detectives clear her apartment quickly enough; Castle can feel Kate vibrating next to him, all that frustration at having to wait outside. He takes her hand, and she lets him.

They're finally allowed inside. The oldest of the two cops, a forty-something man with silver hair and grave brown eyes, gives Kate a sorry look.

Her place is trashed. It's like a tornado has struck, devastated the whole space; wherever the writer looks, there doesn't seem to be one thing intact. Only - only the painting is untouched, he realizes after a moment.

The painting with the bombs raining on the woman.

Shit, shit.

This isn't a break-in. This is warning.

He meets Kate's eyes and he finds the same terrible knowledge there, the same incomprehension, the same fear. A warning.

A warning for _what?_

She's dropped the case; she's quit her job. They haven't done anything, nothing that comes even close to investigating, and _hell they were just in the Hamptons for Father's Day-_

"Castle," she breathes, and there's so much resignation, so much desolation in these two syllables.

Oh, no. She doesn't get to give up. She doesn't get to look at him like she's _breaking up_ with him.

He's at her side in the next second, enveloping her with himself, arms at her waist and at her neck and _you don't get to do this, Kate. _"It's fine," he tells her fiercely, almost believes it. "It's just a mistake. This is nothing, Kate. We'll be fine."

She says nothing, but her hold on him is a little too tight, her breathing a little too fast at his neck. She doesn't believe him.


	44. 45: Tuesday

**45**

* * *

Kate glances around her apartment.

Half cleaned up, half a jumbled mess. Whoever worked over her apartment slit open the fabric on her couch; her computer was untouched, but when she tried turning it on - nothing. Probably swiped an industrial magnet over the CPU.

Castle's hand brushes down her back. "You're ok."

She nods and steps away from him, heading for the bookshelves. They swept out all the glass last night, stacked up picture frames and trinkets that could be salvaged, gathered things back together as best they could, but she was too pissed off to stick around and do anymore.

"I can get a guy in here to re-cover the couch, or repair it as best he can."

She nods and steps through the pieces of her busted coffee table - Castle keeps saying they can get it repaired too, but she doesn't think so. No point. Why even bother?

"And we'll replace your computer. You'll need that."

She nods again and stands in front of her books, most of which have been dumped on the floor and rifled through. All of her books, some of the spines cracked now, each one taken off the shelf, fanned, and dumped in a pile. And his books are hidden beneath the weight of all the rest.

"What did I do wrong, Castle?" she says finally.

The silence is overwhelming.

* * *

"Just grab what you need for the next month. I don't care what," he mutters, tossing the suitcase onto her bed. "You can't stay here, obviously, and I don't think it's a great idea coming back to grab stuff on your own."

"Let me get my weapon," she mutters.

"Your what?" He lifts his head from the pile of clothes she sorted last night from the floor of her closet, watches her disappear inside it.

"I have my back-up piece in a box in here," she calls back. "I am not leaving without it."

He runs a hand through his hair and rubs at his eyes. Neither of them got much sleep last night, and when they told Alexis and his mother about what had happened to her place, shit, Alexis did _not_ help.

He still doesn't know what to do about that. And Kate's been like a zombie ever since, just stunned and hard to get going, moving, which isn't like her, then switching to furious and almost desperate in her frustration.

But he understands. She made the choice to no longer be a part of that world, and it reared its ugly head and got her anyway.

_No._ No, he's not letting that happen.

"Hey, remember when I wanted us to get away - out of the country for a while?" he calls, stepping towards the closet to look for her.

When he ducks his head inside, she's sitting on the floor, hands pressed to her face, tears leaking down her cheeks, a cardboard box balanced on her knees.

"Kate," he murmurs, sinking down beside her. "Kate, what's wrong?"

"It's my mom's case," she groans, and she swipes at her face, over and over, damming up the tears. "The fucking _case_. I should've - shit-"

"What? What's going on?" he says, sitting down beside her, looking at the empty box.

"I took it all down. Off the shutters. Weeks ago. I meant to - I don't know - burn it or trash it or. . ." She trails off and looks over at him. "I think I had this idea that I'd let you do it. Something."

"Me?"

"Just." She shrugs and shoves the box off her knees. "A gesture."

"Okay. Okay. I - I still don't understand." She was going to have him clean it out, okay. But this?

"It's gone," she says quietly, pushing on the box with her shoe. "All of it. They took all of it."

He stares at the empty box.

"It's my fault. I should've just thrown it out. Then they wouldn't have found a single trace of it. Then they'd have known I'm not a threat. But now-"

But now.

* * *

For one fleeting moment, she does think. . .she does think, _Maybe I should leave him._

She does. She's ashamed of it, she is, but there it is. Can't un-think that.

But she won't. She's just that selfish.

And of course, there's the way he's looking at her right now, like his heart would shatter if she did, like he knows exactly what she's thinking and it's killing him that it's there at all.

Kate throws her arms around him and squeezes his neck, taking deep breaths to keep from breaking down, from panicking and running away, reminding herself as she breathes that this is her future, this is her life, this this this.

"Kate," he whispers against her cheek. "Kate."

"Let's get out of the city. Like you said," she says suddenly, drawing back from him. "Everybody. Your mom, Alexis. No one left to-" She swallows at the skittering of fear in his eyes and sees that he gets it now, he knows what she's done to him.

She's made his family a target.

"Okay." He nods and stands up, pulls her up off the floor of her closet. "Pack then."

"For where?"

"Belize."

She swivels her head to look at him, a little surprised that he has a location in mind, but he's smiling back at her.

"You think I haven't been planning this ever since you agreed to go away with me?"

Despite herself, her lips twitch. "Okay. Belize then."

"So finish packing, Kate. Don't forget your passport."


	45. 46: Wednesday

**46**

* * *

Kate finds Alexis in her room, the door mostly shut as the girl fumes, throwing clothes into a suitcase haphazardly. She waits outside for a beat, closing her eyes to gather her courage, and then she knocks on the door.

Alexis's head jerks up and she stiffens when she sees Kate. For a moment, when the girl comes towards her, Kate thinks Alexis is going to shut the door in her face. But she doesn't. She widens the crack, stands with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Alexis," she starts, taking a deep breath as she pauses. She has to do this. She has to. Kate Beckett is not going to be the thing that comes between Rick and his daughter. "I think I can convince your dad to let you come back the week before Summer Experience at Columbia."

Alexis's eyes light up for an instant, and then turn suspicious, mistrustful. Kate bites the inside of her cheek and feels her nails cut into her palm.

"I'm sorry," she says finally. "I know this is my fault-"

Alexis averts her eyes, but she's shaking her head, swiping at her cheeks. "Not - not your fault."

"Alexis," she murmurs, at a loss to deal with this, the tears. "I - I didn't mean to-"

"It's not your fault," she huffs, acting so precisely like the teenager she is that it surprises Kate, makes her take a step back. Alexis draws the heel of her hand under her eye and gives a bitter laugh. "That's the shitty part. I know it's not your fault. You - how did Dad put it? - _you walked away from it_. But here it is. Followed you home."

Kate keeps her mouth shut, lets the girl talk even though she's never heard Alexis curse before. Not even when her father and grandmother were inside that bank-

"But it's _my_ home it followed you to, Kate. Mine. Only it's not your fault. It's not your fault. And now what are we supposed to do?" Alexis crosses her arms over her chest again and half-turns away.

Kate swallows. "We leave. We get away and have fun for a few weeks. That's all your dad wants."

"You mean, we run away. Because whoever broke into your apartment needs to see that you're nowhere near the city, that you're not a threat. So we run away."

And Kate suddenly gets it, what's at the core of Alexis's anger. Not just fear over her father's safety, but this.

The need to tackle the hard things head on.

"Believe me," Kate says quickly, reaching out to tug on Alexis's elbow, turn her around. "It grates me. It goes against everything in me to turn tail and run, Alexis. But I will. I am."

"Why?" Alexis grits out. "This isn't _right_. These people have ruined so many lives, and they just get to keep _doing_ it?"

Kate feels it closing up her throat, threatening to swallow her again, and she has to breathe through it, force air into her lungs. "Because I love your father and I won't let his life be one of those they ruin."

* * *

Castle paces his study, anxiety leaking out of his pores; he can't believe Kate convinced him to let _her_ go and talk to Alexis.

Stupid, stupid idea. Alexis was so furious - she wants to stay here, she doesn't understand, she-

"Rick."

He jerks mid-stride, spins to see Kate in the doorway.

"You let her come back a week before-"

"No."

"Rick."

His chest tightens with it; he wants to yell at her that it's not her place. But he won't. He needs to think. Be smart. Running his mouth off is always what gets him in trouble.

"Hear me out," she says softly. "Isn't this what I've been doing for the last couple years? Tempering your over-protective instincts? Giving you the teenage girl's perspective?"

She's going for funny? She's going for funny. Fine. He sinks to the edge of his desk and gestures for her to continue.

She keeps her arms at her sides, won't come any farther into the study. "Three weeks out of a ten week summer is a lot of time for Alexis to be away from home. She won't want to miss out on any of those last moments, the last time she meets up with friends at the favorite coffee place, the last-"

"I got it," he grates out, his jaw working.

Kate narrows her eyes at him but stands firm in the middle of his doorway. "Three weeks is a lot. And then she'd fly back and have to go straight to the summer thing at Columbia - straight into a new life. Give her the week, Castle."

"I can't. I can't let her stay here when-"

"We're here now. You made me spend the night because you said it's safe here. Doorman, lobby security, the alarm-"

"Saf_er_. It's relative, Kate."

"So hire extra security."

He growls and rubs a hand down his face. She can't possibly expect him to send his daughter back to the city while they're all the way in Belize, leaving her alone to face whatever-

"She's frustrated, Castle. She wants the chance to live her life, same as you. Same as me."

"What?" he grits out, lifting his head to look at her.

"After I was shot-"

He flinches and she pauses, just a moment, but keeps going, plows forward.

"-you made the choice, Castle. To stand with me. Even though Alexis wasn't happy about it. She just wants the same respect, the same opportunity to choose her own life."

He groans and tilts his head back, scrubbing at his face. She's silent now, and his mind is racing with worst-case scenarios, but shit.

"I hate it when you're right," he mutters.

"You love it," she murmurs.

He glances up, and no, she is _not_ smirking at him right now, is she? She is.

Now Kate comes into the room, watching him, stands between his knees, her hands trailing up his thighs. "She doesn't want to run away, Castle. She wants the chance to make her stand."

How is he supposed to tell her that those are terrible words, that they remind him of blood and death? That he wants nothing more than to sit his daughter down, shield her, never let her-

Ahhh, damn.

"Okay," he sighs, closing his eyes against it. He feels her fingertips against his cheeks and his lashes flutter open. She's leaning in at that moment, and her mouth presses against his softly, caressing, fingers stroking his jaw, the curve of his ear, his neck.

"You're a good father," she murmurs, cradling his face, her eyes intent on his, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones. "And a beautiful man, Castle."

He wraps his arms around her, tightly, and holds on.


	46. 47: Thursday

**47**

* * *

Castle watches his mother enter the loft with her usual flair, sweeping her arm as she encompasses Kate in a hug, solicitous and concerned about the break-in.

"That's what we want to talk to you about," he starts.

Kate shoots him a look, like she doesn't agree with his approach, and he frowns back at her.

Kate cuts in. "Martha, actually, we were thinking about getting out of the city for the next few weeks."

"Oh, you should. How lovely would that be?" she says, clasping her hands together and turning to look at him. "When will you guys be leaving?"

"Well, Mother, actually, I want everyone to come. A vacation. I suggested Belize and Kate thought-"

"Oh no, no," Martha interrupts, holding up both hands to stop him. "I'm not going."

He jerks forward, but Kate puts a hand to his chest, not even looking at him.

"There's some concern," she starts, angling her body in front of his. "We have some concern about everyone's safety, after this. I'm sorry, but we think if we get out of the city for a while, it will prove that we're not a threat."

Martha shakes her head and gestures somewhere off in the distance. "Where are you wanting to go, and for how long?"

"Belize," Castle says shortly. "Three weeks. I got everyone tickets already."

"Richard," she admonishes. "I cannot go to Belize! My summer session starts Monday and it only runs for four weeks. I won't miss-"

"Mother-"

But Kate nudges him back with her elbow. "Martha, the plan is to let Alexis come back that last week, stay here before her Summer Experience at Columbia. You could come back with her."

"And miss half of my session? No. I don't think so. It's a terrible idea. Richard, why in the world did you get tickets and just-"

"I need for everyone to be safe," he grits out, hearing the rasp in his own voice and unable to hep it. Kate turns to look at him, compassion in her eyes even though he can clearly see she thinks it's a little much.

His mother puts her hands on her hips and isn't swayed by his emotion. "Richard, you have no idea that this is even a real threat. What if the break-in was just a way of cleaning up loose ends? What if it was just a warning? You said they took everything from Kate's mother's case. Well, and dear, excuse me for my bluntness, what kept them from staging a break-in while Kate was there and just ending it then?"

Rick sucks in a breath, rocks back as he faces his mother.

"They've left you alive. All this time. They could've done more, but they haven't. Let's not panic."

He makes a noise in his throat, and Kate reaches down and takes his hand, squeezing. "Martha," she begins, and he hears the strength in her voice, takes strange comfort in it. "I'd rather not take any chances."

"Dear, I don't think it's as dire as you both are predicting. But I do understand your caution. I can - I imagine I can find substitutes and guest stars for the first week-"

Castle feels the relief unclench his heart and he squeezes Kate's hand back, breathing again.

"-but after that, I need to be back here. A week away can be good for us all, let the heat die down. But then I come back to the city and my acting school."

* * *

"It will be okay," she murmurs, eyeing him from his bed. She's sitting up against the headboard, legs bare, knees pulled up nearly to her chest. "Castle."

He waves her off, heading for the bathroom, and she doesn't know if it's frustration over how the whole vacation/running away thing has played out, or if he really does just need to go to the bathroom.

She waits, not _liking_ that she waits, but doing it anyway. She can give him this; it costs her little.

She hears him washing his hands, brushing his teeth, and she loops her arms around her knees, tilts her head away from the bathroom door. The windows of his bedroom are narrow, letting in sleek city nightlight; it's late and she's so tired, worn out from walking on eggshells with his family, but she can't let go.

One last thing, one last person to apologize to.

Him.

Castle comes back in the room, rubbing his hand down his jaw as if measuring the degree of stubble, and she reaches up and hooks her fingers around his wrist, draws him down to her. He sits on the bed, doesn't look at her, but he does at least take her hand, warm and confident in that.

She rubs her thumb over his skin, waits a moment to try to find the right words, but they're not there. She has nothing but an apology, weak and ineffectual as it is. "I'm sorry."

"I know you're sorry," he sighs.

"You don't sound like you forgive me," she says back, eyebrows knitting. His fingers flex.

"I didn't know that was an apology. Thought it was sympathy," he says back, turning to look at her. He does actually look surprised. "What should I be forgiving you for?"

She opens her mouth but there's nothing.

"You didn't ask for your place to be broken into. For these guys to dog your every step. Kate, there's not - this is just how it is."

God that sucks. "I don't want your family to get hurt." And it hurts even to say it, because she knows she hasn't done this, it's not her, but it is. It is her. "I don't want you to get hurt."

He gives a huffing laugh that doesn't sound very funny. "I don't either."

She leans in, pressing close, puts her forehead to his neck. His arm comes around her waist, fingers gripping her hipbone.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, her breath catching.

There's a long pause, her heart is sinking, but then he turns his mouth to her temple and sighs. "All's forgiven, Kate."


	47. 48: Friday

**48**

* * *

Castle blatantly eavesdrops on her third phone call of the day to her father.

Jim won't go.

Kate's not pleading - he doesn't think Kate has it in her to plead, at least not for this - but her voice does crack when she says _I love you_ and hangs up.

He steps into the bathroom where she hid out for that conversation and crowds her against the counter, draws her into an embrace. She's stiff, her arms up between them, her face turned away.

"He'll be okay," Kate says finally.

"I can hire a firm, have someone on him-"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "My Dad would - no."

"He'll be okay," he echoes, rubbing his hands slowly up and down her back until her shoulders drop, her body eases into his. Castle kisses her temple, the curve of her cheek, draws her farther into his arms.

"He just lives so far out," Kate murmurs.

"He'll see them coming a mile away."

"That doesn't help," she says wryly.

"Looking for a silver lining here, Kate." He feels the dry smile she presses against his cheek, knows that it's working. "Oh, I know. Silver lining is that your dad won't be on vacation with us when you wear that skimpy two-piece again. I like that one. A lot. I don't think your dad should see that."

She does laugh at that, slides her arms around his waist, and for some reason, he can't believe - he can_not_ believe - that they are here.

He's holding her in his bathroom right before they leave for a three week trip to Belize. Kate Beckett. Formerly detective. Current professional reader and still partner. His partner. In everything.

He cradles her cheeks and lowers a kiss to her lips, soft, brushing lightly, their breath mingled. "I love you, Kate."

Her eyes open, so dark, so troubled, but easing, the weight of fear and responsibility fading the longer she stares at him.

As if that's all it took.

* * *

The flight to Houston is non-stop but a little over three hours. Behind them, Martha and Alexis chat the whole way, pausing only to lean forward and ask Castle's input to prove a point, which doesn't work because he comes up with a third option, and Kate gets to be the final say: X-Men 2 is the best of the three movies.

Castle gives her a high five for agreeing with him.

She makes certain he knows she wasn't agreeing with him, she was stating an already formed opinion. And then she goes back to reading.

Of course, Kate doesn't get a chance to read for long, and Castle keeps making eyes at her and suggesting that she needs to go to the bathroom - no, she does not - but flying with him and his family is not that bad, really.

First class, everyone together, Castle's fingertips at her knee and absent-mindedly stroking.

It's more than okay, really. It's good.

It feels like freedom, in a way she hasn't felt since she came dripping to his doorstep and threw herself at him. And was rebuffed. And then had to explain, brokenly, and lay herself bare to him, all of her.

So yeah, being above the clouds, awash in morning light, this man who loves her sitting there trying half-heartedly to convince her to join the Mile High Club, smiling at her, _despite_ all the things she's put him through-

It feels very much like freedom.

* * *

Houston is an hour ahead of Belize City; New York City is two hours ahead of Belize City. Their flight will take two. It certainly _sounds_ like messing around with time travel.

He keeps telling her this, but she's only just rolling her eyes at him.

"Hey, Alexis," he calls behind him, clicking his seatbelt on as he gets settled in their second of three flights. Alexis leans forward and reaches between the seats to tweak his ear. "Explain to Kate why it's like time travel."

"No, Dad."

Kate grins at him, a little too triumphantly. "See? It's just changing time zones, Castle. East to central."

"Yes, but we are gaining time and losing time _at the same time_. I don't think you understand how awesome this is."

"You're right. I don't. Because I think you're doing the math wrong. But what I _do_ think is awesome? Not having to listen to you try to convince me for the next two hours that just because you can write, you can also add and subtract correctly-"

"Fine, fine, fine," he grumbles, wriggling his shoulders back in the seat to get comfortable. "Won't help me join the Mile High Club, won't entertain notions of time travel. Fine. Be that way."

She grips his hand over his armrest; he moves his thumb to caress those tightly-squeezing fingers. Signature move. They do this a lot - saying things in the gesture that bely the words they speak.

It's like their very own secret code. It's about as awesome as time travel, really.

It's like _they have a thing._ Oh, they have a thing. Now they need a song. Ohhh, 'Blame It On the Rain' by Milli Vanilli. Kate was like. . .um, nine when that came out? Yeah. Okay, maybe keep thinking.

"You like me this way," she murmurs, quiet, her eyes on him, completely derailing his train of thought. Oh right, he said _Be that way. _Wait. That can't be a question, can it? Can it really be a question?

"I like you just about any way," he grins, leaning closer to her, putting his mouth to her ear. "Any way you let me have you. My desk chair, your kitchen counter, maybe even the entirely too-small bathroom on this lovely jumbo jet?"

Laughter bubbles up from her; he can feel the squeeze of her fingers on his ear, not sharp, just pressure, and she slides her mouth against his cheek.

"I love you, Castle."

"Okay, now we _have_ to do it in that bathroom. Right now, Kate."


	48. 49: Saturday

**49**

* * *

Kate wakes up to the susurration of ocean through the screen door, the sheet tangled in her legs, his mouth at her shoulder.

She turns her head, opens her eyes. "Morning."

"It's actually afternoon," he murmurs.

"What?" She jerks upright, then remembers, feels heat climb her cheeks. She buries her face back into her pillow.

"You only slept an hour," he laughs. "Did I make you that-"

"Shut up," she groans, using a hand to shove on him even as she keeps her face in the bed. Castle lays over her, crushing her, and his laughter vibrates through her body. "Ug, get off me."

"Not what you were saying an hour ago."

"Go get me coffee. I need to pee."

"Those two things should not go together." But he peels himself off her back and slides out of bed; she cracks open an eye to watch him go.

"And put some clothes on," she hisses. Oh, yes, please. Before she does something stupid and drags him back-

She closes her eyes again, blocking out the vision.

* * *

"Where did Martha and Alexis go?" she asks, feeling better after a shower. She watches him study her legs, smirks when his eyes finally lift to meet hers. She takes the coffee from him, sipping it, but she feels the fan blowing cool air across her skin and his gaze on her.

"Shopping. San Pedro is entirely tourist-driven. There are lots of shops. A thousand shops. And a library, interestingly enough."

"We should go walk around."

"Not in the heat of the day. Let's go to the pool instead."

"Or we could stay here, since we're alone," she says, sliding into his lap. His face goes blank for just an instant and she's delighted she could surprise him. She puts her coffee mug on the side table, using the movement to make him squirm.

"But we already-"

"Are you saying no?" she murmurs, lifting an eyebrow.

"I'm saying. . .I need some recovery time, Beckett. You're insatiable."

"Oh that's too bad," she sighs, rolling her hips into him, drawing a hand down his chest.

"Yeah, it really is. It's a crime, really. You should arrest me."

"I don't do that any more, Castle."

"You can always arrest me. I'm up for it."

"Are you now?"

He gulps and she leans in to press her mouth to that fast-swallowing throat, scrapes her teeth at his adam's apple. He clutches her hips, drags her closer.

"I am. Definitely. Sorry you took a shower."

"I'll survive."

"I'm not sure I will though."

* * *

"They're back," she hisses at him, throwing his pants in his face.

He doesn't laugh, just hops around their bedroom suite as he tries to get a foot in a pant leg, sweat sheening his chest. She hooks her bra, pulls the straps up, searches for her tshirt even as she hears the lock turn in the front door.

They're okay, really they are. There's still the whole living room, open air and white, touches of blue in a native, Central American theme, and then the gorgeous kitchen with the granite countertops and chrome appliances, and only then would they reach the slatted wooden door to the master suite.

Slatted. Someone wasn't thinking.

"Dad, Kate! We're back. You gotta see what we found!"

"Kate, shit, put on your pants."

She presses her lips together to keep back the retort. So yeah, one more time was _her_ idea, but talking to her like that is uncalled for - so low, throaty, sex dripping from his voice. She'll never make it if he keeps saying her name like that. And looking at her like he wants only to rip her clothes off. Again.

"Stop looking at me like we haven't been doing this for the last two months," she moans, shoving on his shoulder when he comes over offering to _help_ her with her pants. Which she hasn't found.

"I am not. And you were the one-"

"Hey, Dad?"

"Be right there, pumpkin."

"You go out there first," Kate mutters. "I can't find my shorts."

"Richard. We have the loveliest, hand-carved, wooden statues. You should see the gorgeous things they are selling just off a card table. It's amazing."

"I think I threw your shorts over here-"

"Dad? What are you do-" A sudden pause as everyone holds their collective breath. "Oh, ew. Dad! Kate!"

_Kate? _Now, she's getting blamed too?

"Get out there, Castle. I can find my own shorts."

* * *

Dinner is rice and beans and some kind of meat in orange sauce - she has no idea, but it's good, and rich, and the flavor burns down her throat. They eat on the patio out of the takeout cartons Castle ordered from a restaurant called the Salty Dog - they offer local cuisine and everyone was up for trying it.

Not too bad.

"You ever been here before?" she asks him, licking a grain of white rice off her thumb, some of that orange sauce catching her by surprise, burning her lip.

"Belize? No."

"Really?" she asks.

"You sound surprised."

"Did you do a lot of research before we got here?"

"Some. Enough. Why?" he asks, putting his fork down and leaning back in his seat. She can see the ocean water just past his head. Their villa is built on stilts right out on the beach; the sun is just now setting and creating a pink-pearled haze across the sky. The luxury would be obscene if it weren't for the amazing display of nature as far as the eye can see, completely outshining their accommodations.

"You just looked like you knew exactly what you were doing," she says finally, shrugging at him. She leans back as well, slides a leg out under the table, encounters his bare feet.

She feels his toes wriggle in hello and she smiles at him.

"Just good at faking it, I guess. And they speak English, so it's not hard." He's giving her this cautious smile back, like he doesn't know what this is about.

Martha is on the phone with one of the acting school's teachers, giving last minute preparation tips and directions - orders - and the sound carries out to them. Alexis walked down the stairs from the patio to the beach and is sitting out against a palm tree, listening to her ipod and watching the water.

Kate turns back to Castle, curls her toes at his ankle. "It's sexy," she says back. "When you take charge. Didn't know I thought that."

He laughs, low and delighted, something kind of beautiful beaming at her from his eyes. She wants to watch this man smile at her for. . .ever.

"Yeah, I might have noticed you thought that. And I might have noticed you were surprised by the thought too."

She hums and grins back, thinking about _twice_ today, and what might have happened if the other two hadn't gotten back so early. She trails her toes up his calf and he just watches her. She loves how he watches her.

"Hey, Castle?"

He smiles, lifts an eyebrow for her to continue.

"This is it for me."

She sees all of the humor and amusement fall right out of his eyes, but it's a good thing. He looks stunned, but it's a good thing.

"You," she clarifies, just in case he needs it. "You're it for me."

His mouth drops open, but nothing comes out.

Kate pushes back from the table and stands up; his hand darts out and grabs hers, but she just squeezes and shakes him off.

She heads down the stairs to the beach, the light fading.

Castle still hasn't managed to find words.


	49. 50: Sunday

**50**

* * *

Kate trails her fingers up his side; his hand comes up between them to capture hers, lacing together.

Gorgeous. The ever-present sound of water lapping, lifting, breaking, and the warm night, and Castle next to her.

She watches the stars move in the black overhead, the sail taut and grey from the mast. The wooden boat under her back bobs in the water as they lie side by side in the prow. The boat is so small that it dips steeply in the troughs, thrusts up in the swells.

She clutches his hand tighter when the sailboat pitches deeply to starboard; he laughs softly in the darkness.

The sail snaps and the boat tugs to one side; the two guys working the sail, the outboard motor are dark shadows at the stern.

"Oh, hey, here it is," Castle murmurs, and he rolls over onto his stomach beside her, nudges her in the temple with his knuckle.

She rolls over as well, looking out across the softly slapping, dark water, and she sees the brilliant, textured-white of the moon rising over the ocean.

"Oh, wow. Oh, Castle."

* * *

Kate has her cheek resting on her arms; she watches the moon rise over Ambergris Cay. She's beautiful in the grey light, her lashes so dark and her eyes so luminous.

There's so much history between them, so many moments, so many problems - other relationships, jealousies, criminals, cases, tragedies. But so much beauty. All of it rests right here, but all he can see is the beauty. He chooses to see the beauty.

Castle leans over and presses his mouth to her cheekbone, the high arch of it, feels her lashes flutter against his skin as her hand come up to cradle the side of his face, hold him there.

_You're it for me._

He will work his whole life to be the man worthy of being her last.

* * *

The stars are quiet in the deep layers of the night. Freckles of light in the darkness, glints of space.

The water pushes them up and down like their boat is a cradle, and they lie on their backs again, the warmth of their bodies side by side.

Her fingers play, soft strokes against his digits, the back of his hand, her thumb smoothing the bones of his wrist. His fingers lift or curl in response, stroke back, tangle with hers, an unconscious dance between them. Her elbow rests in the crook of his, the soft, tender, inside skin of their forearms brushing, laying across one another.

They watch the swirl of stars as the boat moves, as the earth rotates, as the night wears on. The moon lifts above them and never has it looked so far away, so alien, and yet so close, so infinitely close she could scratch it with her thumb and pull up a piece.

Kate breathes out into wide open, the vast stretching beyond her, and with their hands twining and untwining, touching and resting in each other's, she realizes she has been given this.

This.

The world, and the sky. The moon. The blue ocean darkness with the stars budded tight and hard, waiting for promises.

"Kate," he whispers into this.

She waits, watching the fixed point of the brightest star spin her, turn her, over and over. His thumb circles the base of hers, around and around, and she waits for him to find the words.

He never does. He just says her name gratefully into the deep blue night, with the ocean a steady counterpoint to his breathing, to the earth, to the boat in the waves.

"Kate."

She knows then that he is still speechless because of her, because of this, the two of them as vast and faceted and filled with promise as the night sky is with stars.


	50. 51: Monday

**51**

* * *

Castle crashes on the couch at five o'clock, shoulders sunburned after spending so long in the water, and closes his eyes. He knows he's getting the couch wet, but he can't be bothered to care.

He feels her fingers trail through his hair and she laughs softly. "You tired?"

"Worn out."

"Long day."

He hears his mother rustling in the kitchen, banging the cabinets, half-singing a show tune. "Mother. What are you pouring?"

"Whatever I can find, dear boy. Whatever I can find," she trills.

"I'll take one," he calls out, opening his eyes to glance in the kitchen. His mother gives him a nod and takes another glass out of the cabinet. Castle looks up and Kate is sitting on the arm of the couch, watching him. She smiles and her hand presses at his forehead, cool and lovely.

"Kate? Darling, do you want a drink? I think we've got a bottle of white," his mother asks.

"Sounds good," she says back, her fingers making soft designs along his cheek, his nose.

"Where'd Alexis go?" he asks her.

"Upstairs to her room. She wanted to take a shower before dinner."

"Hey, let's go out for dinner," he says, but it's kind of a question.

"Your face is a little pink," she murmurs. "Do you really want to?"

"We might have to," Martha interrupts, coming into the living room of their little villa with two glasses of white. "This place is not exactly well stocked. We have pop-tarts and goldfish crackers that you bought at the market on the corner, and that is it."

"Yeah, I don't want pop-tarts for dinner," Kate murmurs, sipping her wine.

Martha sits across from them in a chair, the late afternoon light spilling in through the glass doors, her fingers around her wine glass and tilting the vintage back and forth rather mesmerizingly. Castle tilts his head to look up at Kate.

"You wanna sit?"

"Good right here," she says, smiling at him with a brush of her fingers down his nose.

"Okay, so where do we want to go for dinner?" Just thinking of making the decision is wiping him out; he closes his eyes again and Kate's palm rests at his forehead, her fingers making forays down his face. "Feels good."

"Hey guys," his daughter calls out. Castle opens his eyes and she's coming down the stairs, her hair pulled back into a french braid she must have done herself. "I was thinking we could get lobster. Is that okay?"

"Ooh, good idea, Alexis." He grins at her as she comes over to the couch and sits on his shins. He pops his knees up and she tumbles into the arm, laughing at him.

Kate thwacks his ear, but it's gentle, probably due to the almost-sunburn. "So. Lobster?"

"After we finish our drinks," Martha says. "Then we'll go."

* * *

The Blue Water Grill is built right on the beach, so all they have to do is walk down a few blocks. Kate has changed into a long purple skirt, loose and cotton, and a black tank; her earrings dangle nearly to her shoulders, while her hair is pulled back off her head, wisps curling.

Castle watches her walk ahead of him, talking idly with Alexis, her skirt billowing around her legs as the breeze picks up. Beside him, his mother is comparing the various resorts along the beach, pointing out their amenities or lack thereof. The wooden slats of the boardwalk creak under his feet, and the sky is brilliant yellow and orange as they head into the sunset.

Kate stops and turns, walking backwards. "Hey, Castle. What would you say those fish were?"

"The ones that kept nibbling at your legs?" he grins.

Even at this distance, he can see her roll her eyes.

He shakes his head. "I don't know what they were."

"Hey, can we go snorkeling tomorrow?" Alexis asks. "I saw on a sign near the boats that you can see sting rays and sharks."

"Sharks?" Castle asks. "That would be so cool."

"Surely not," Kate says. "Not really sharks - not while you're snorkeling."

"It said sharks," Alexis insists. "You scared?"

Kate laughs. "No. But I'm also not stupid."

"Not anymore, at least," Castle mutters.

Kate stops on the boardwalk, giving him a glare, and he grins back, catching up to her and taking her by the hand. His mother moves ahead of them and walks with Alexis.

"You forget, Castle." Her hand squeezes around his. "I'm just stubborn. You were the stupid one."

He leans over and kisses her cheek. "Yeah. That's why I wanna snorkel with some sharks. You gonna join me?"

* * *

He groans as they trudge back up the stairs. "I am so full. I am so tired. Oh man. Today was awesome."

Kate curls her hand at his elbow and her cheek presses against his arm. "It was awesome."

Alexis pushes past them and unlocks their door with the keycard, holding it open for them. "The water and the sun really just sap all your energy, don't they?"

"Yeah," he answers, but the word is cracked in half by a huge yawn. His mother chuckles at him as they go inside.

"Dad, tomorrow? You need to use my sunblock. The spf 75. Your face is redder now than it was when we first got in."

"It is?" he asks, pressing a hand to his cheek. His skin is hot and Kate is already brushing her fingers against his neck.

"Red here too," she murmurs. "Want some lotion on it?"

"You offering?" he leers, his eyes on hers. "Oh, look at that. Now Kate's red too."

She squeezes his elbow tightly and nudges him towards their bedroom. Alexis is already on the stairs, yawning too, saying good-night. His mother waves them both off as he glances at her in question.

"Go, go. I'm going to use your computer to catch up on business," she says, heading for it.

"Sounds good," he says, following Kate into their room.

At the bed, she gently pushes him down, her fingers coming up to frame his face. "How you feel?"

"Just tired," he says, watching her. "You gonna play nurse?"

"Well, not _now._"

"But you were?" he whines, but he sounds more tired than whiny, even to himself. "Eh, whatever. I'm too tired to do anything but lie here."

"That can be arranged," she murmurs.

He shoots an eyebrow up, stunned, but she's laughing at him, pushing him on the shoulder.

"Not what I meant."

Castle grins up at her, lifts his arm to wrap his fingers around her wrist. "Come here."

"Lotion?"

"In a minute. Come here."

She comes, and he wraps his arm around her waist, pulls them both down onto the king-sized bed, curling up at her back. Kate turns slightly to look at him, but he just puts his head on the pillow and presses his mouth to her neck, breathing her in.

Sunshine and sunscreen and beauty. Faintly cherries, but that's mostly gone.

He feels Kate draw his arm up against her chest and he tilts his body towards hers, eyes closing.

"You're really tired," she murmurs with a little laugh, brings his palm up to her lips, pressing a kiss that he curls his fingers around.

"Yeah."

"Castle, you'll be more comfortable in pajamas."

"Let me just take a nap here first."

* * *

Castle wakes disoriented, half on top of Kate, his arm having fallen asleep under both of them. He slides his arm out, rolls onto his back, blinks in the darkness until he's managed to gather himself. Then he turns his head to look at her, the moon brilliant through the window.

Kate's still in her skirt, her bare toes peeking out, a knee sharp under the material. He raises up on an elbow and draws his hand over her body, paints a line down her side with a fingertip, then kisses her cheek softly.

Castle gets out of bed and heads for the bathroom, washes his hands, changes into pajamas.

When he gets back, Kate's still asleep, her hair in the the bun. He loosens it, brushes through the strands with his fingers, rubs his thumb down her cheek. Her lashes flutter.

"Kate. Do you want to change?"

Her eyes open finally, stare at him.

"You're still in your skirt," he says softly.

"Okay."

"Yeah, but do you wanna take it off?"

"Not right now. Tired," she murmurs, and her eyes are slipping shut.

"Kate." But she doesn't wake again. So he gets back into bed and slides under the covers, tugs them out from under her, pulls the sheet up over them both.

He leans over her and brushes her hair back, but she still sleeps. So he curls up behind her again, draws his arm around her, and closes his eyes too.

Just as he's drifting, about to fall asleep, she suddenly turns into him, snuggling, her nose at his neck. She sighs deeply, and her hand rests at his chest, and he can tell she's slowly lifting up out of sleep. He feels her knee shift between his, drawing closer. She hums, and it could be a question, but she doesn't open her eyes.

"You're it for me too, Kate." His thumb brushes at her cheek; he lowers a kiss to her forehead. "You have been for a while."


	51. 52: Tuesday

**52**

* * *

"Did you put on some of Alexis's sunscreen?" she murmurs, slipping onto the seat next to him in the boat.

"Yes," he grunts and rolls his eyes.

She presses a finger to his exposed shoulder, watches his skin flush pink. "Because you look-"

"I just reapplied, Kate."

She tries a different approach, leans in close to him as the boat dips and rocks in the water. "Castle," she murmurs, being sure to let her lips brush his ear. "If you end up too sunburned for sex. . ."

She feels him straighten up under the touch of her hand. "Alexis. Hey. Can I see your sunblock again?"

She smiles to herself and sits back against the boat, pleased.

* * *

When they're all in the water, outfitted in the mask, the tube, the flippers - she finds it's easy to maneuver, easier than she expected, and that there's a strange affinity that falls over her when she gets going.

Kate separates from the rest of them, even from the two guides who came with them, but she's careful to avoid the coral. It's protected; one of their guides, Freddy, explained that touching the coral kills it, and they don't want to damage the reef which is the second largest in the world.

Also, it's sharp as hell, and Kate already has a slice on her elbow where she cut herself while she was swimming in front of their place on the beach. It stings like crazy.

The boat went out for a while to get them to this spot, but it's still not deep in the cay. She can't touch of course, but it's not that far down. She glances around and sees Alexis and Rick with their heads together, snorkels up, peering down into the clear depths. Martha opted out of the trip, staying behind for the delicious frozen daiquiris.

Kate could go for one right now, actually. The banana ones are amazing. . .oh but look at that.

Kate draws her feet up, treading water slowly, watches the sting ray undulate below her. She catches her breath and takes a shallow dive, paces the devil ray as it floats like a shadow, skimming the bottom.

After a few seconds, she realizes she's still holding her breath and takes a cautious suck on the mouthpiece. When she gets air, the strange sensation of breathing underwater makes her feel claustrophobic for an instant, and then that clears when a school of fish swim right around her.

Kate kicks with them, watches their yellow tails, their dark darting bodies. Yellowtail damselfish, if she remembers right. Young ones, protected by the reef, hundreds of them.

The water is so clear, so blue, and the sandy bottom is interrupted with a landscape of coral, brownish in color with spots of hard white or sudden plumes of a strange purple-pink. Fish move in and out of the reef, some investigate her hair as it fans out from her head, some dart away the moment she gets close.

The sting ray comes back again, or it's another one, and she keeps still for a moment, awash in the strange silence of being underwater, her breath echoing in the tube and her heart in her chest, the water warm and silky along her skin.

To think she might have missed this. She might never have gotten here. The day before was the moon and the stars and the deep, unending night, and now this morning there is the rippling blue water, the otherworldly life that exists just past her feet.

The devil ray fans its wings and glides off.

Kate lets herself bob back to the surface, shallow as she is, and lifts her head out of the water, pulls the face mask off.

The sun is brilliant and unmerciful, but the ocean tempers the heat, makes the day alive and glowing, but not unmanageable.

She sees Castle swimming for her, a grin on his face. "He's got sharks, Kate."

"Who?"

His hand comes to her shoulder in the water, drifts, skims her waist, pulling himself in a little closer. "Our guide, Pedro. He has sharks. You want to touch one? I touched one."

"You touched a shark?" she gasps.

"I scratched its belly."

She narrows her eyes at him, but he's not kidding. He's got the biggest, goofiest, proudest smile on his face and his cheeks are red with sun, but he's totally not lying.

"All right. Let me at the sharks."

* * *

She's touching a shark.

It feels. . .wet.

It feels like a strange, unearthly beast is just below her fingertips.

"This is the nurse shark," Pedro says. He's holding the nurse shark by the dorsal fin, flipped over on its back so that Kate can stroke its belly.

"It's awesome," Castle breathes at her ear.

She catches Alexis's eye and nods to the shark, lets her have a turn. As Kate moves back, rising with every swell of the water, she feels Castle's arm around her waist, tugging. She lets herself go with him, their legs tangling for an instant, and then he drops his hand, treads water at her back.

"This is amazing," Alexis says, lifting a bright smile to them. "It's a shark."

"A nurse shark," Pedro says again, as if reassuring them that it's not a great white or anything.

Brown, about four feet long, white belly. "So how big can these get?" she asks.

"Fourteen feet."

Whoa. "Is this one a baby?" Alexis asks, pulling her hand away from the shark.

Pedro flips it back over in the water, lets them see it. Apparently Pedro's touch is paralyzing, because the thing doesn't try to move or get away, just drifts there, pumping water through its gills, small eyes definitely shark-like, nurse or no.

"Baby, yes. This is a baby nurse shark. See the spots? They fade as they get older. They usually sleep during the day in groups of thirty or so."

"Thirty?" Kate asks, and then, yes, oh my God, there she comes. The baby's mother.

Castle yelps behind her and there's a man-sized brown shark heading slowly their direction. Pedro lets the baby go and it snakes off, the mother is diverted, and the two settle under an overhang of coral.

"Holy shit, that was a shark," Castle murmurs.

Kate turns around to look at him. "Scared?"

"Hell no. Were you?"

"I knew you had my back."

He grins wider. "Ya think Pedro will go get me another one?"

"Why?"

"So I can punch it in the face."


	52. 53: Wednesday

**53**

* * *

The heat of the afternoon is slowly dying out, evolving into a more bearable warmth; it's a relief, because although they've been in and out of souvenir shops for a good two hours now, the fans inside do little to keep the heat out. Kate can still feel the sweat pooling at her lower back, the thin fabric of her dress uncomfortably sticking to that particular spot. She twitches, trying to get some air between her skin and the smooth silk that felt so nice this morning.

Castle has made it his mission to find appropriate presents for Ryan and Esposito; it seems to have turned into some sort of game with his mother, where they both look around for the stupidest or the most terrible-looking thing, theorize over what it could possibly be used for. It makes Kate laugh, but they've gotten insulted glares from a considerable number of salespersons.

Kate glances around, finds Alexis standing back, looking at her father but not really seeing him - she's been pretty silent all afternoon, not exactly sulking but not exactly joining in either. She's hanging back, a rather wistful expression on her face, and Beckett is surprised that Castle hasn't done anything about it yet. She cannot believe he hasn't noticed-

Oh.

Maybe he's giving her a chance to talk to his daughter first. Since that's how they handled the going away for three weeks issue. She takes a few steps towards Alexis, glances at him, catches him looking. Yeah. Wow. He's waiting on her.

Kate feels like shaking her head at him, but her chest is warm, her heart soft at the gesture; after all, Alexis is the thing that matters most to him.

"Hey," she says quietly, watches the girl blink out of her thoughtful haze. Clear blue eyes turn to her, and Kate has to resist an unexpected urge to hug Castle's daughter. She looks so very...young.

"Kate," Alexis acknowledges, trying a smile. It lacks her usual cheerfulness.

"You okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah. I'm fine." Her tone says the exact opposite. Kate pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, wonders whether to push or not.

She decides to wait Alexis out instead.

It takes a couple minutes, but once they've reached the next store, Kate still close, just within reach, the girl finally sighs, says softly, "It's just..."

Kate holds her breath. Alexis gestures to the phone she's still holding in her hand.

"I got a text from my friend, Caitlin, and she's leaving New York today. She got accepted to Cambridge, and she and her parents are going on this European tour for the summer before she moves there, so I... I'm not gonna see her for a while, and I won't - I won't get to say goodbye. I wish I'd remembered last week-"

She leaves her sentence unfinished, but it's easy for Kate to complete it. _But I didn't know I'd be out of the city then._

_"_Alexis," she starts, unsure what to say.

Rick's daughter shrugs. "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, Kate. I promise. I know it's not your fault. And - I'm gonna see Caitlin again, you know, and there's Facebook..."

"But you wanted a chance to say goodbye," Kate says gently. "It makes sense."

Alexis fiddles with her phone, doesn't answer immediately. "I just-" she sighs, pushes back her red hair. "It's never gonna be the same again. I'll see her, yes, but we'll never sit in class together again, spend an hour bitching about our French tutor, or just study for a History test-"

Her voice breaks and she looks away; Kate is pretty sure she's doing her best to hold back tears. She hesitates, lifts a hand, rests it tentatively on the girl's shoulder.

"It won't be the same again," she agrees. "But maybe it'll be better."

Alexis turns her head back, a mute question in her shining eyes.

"See, when you're in high school," Kate explains, "all the friends you make - of course, they're great, and you have the best times with them, but it's always...situational. I mean, you're thrown together with these random people for a year or a class, and what can you do but become friends with some of them? It'd be terribly lonely otherwise. So you become really close, because you share so much of your day with them, but when it's over, everyone just...goes their own way. And many of those relationships will unravel just as quickly as they were formed."

Shit, she's not explaining herself right. But damn, Castle is the one with all the words, not her, and now Alexis is just giving her this horrified look-

"What are you saying?" the girl asks disbelievingly. "That in a year's time, all my friends won't be my friends anymore?"

"_No_," Kate hastily opposes, trying to fix this. She meant to comfort Alexis, not- "No, Alexis, of course not. But well - some of them won't. In a year, you'll already be able to tell who's still answering your messages, who's already given up and moved on. And the relationships you'll preserve, the new ones you'll make? They'll mean more to you. They'll _matter _more. Because it'll take a conscious choice to weave them into your college life, to keep them going. It'll take effort, and not just - not just showing up at school everyday."

Her words are met with a long silence; Alexis is toying with one of the braided purses on display, looking down, pensive. Kate's wondering if she's ruined it, if Castle's daughter is just going to stalk away and ignore her, when the redhead lifts her head to her.

"I understand," she says quietly. "I hope you're wrong - sorry, I can't help it - but I understand what you mean. And, I guess, if you're right... Then it doesn't matter that I don't get to say goodbye to Caitlin, right? Because either we're gonna stay friends, and I'll see her again; or we don't and then it just - doesn't matter."

Kate presses her lips together, gives a half-shrug. "That's the way I would look at it, yeah."

Alexis considers, tilts her head at Kate. "How many high school friends are _you_ still in touch with?"

Oh, jeez. How did she let the conversation come to this?

"Um," Kate hedges. "Two."

Thank god for Madison. Three years ago, the answer would've been one. Pretty pathetic, she knows.

"Two?" Alexis echoes, her eyes wide, such disappointment in her voice. "Oh. Really?"

Kate cannot help feeling a tiny bit defensive. "Well, how many high school friends of your dad have you met?"

Alexis's brow knits at her question. "I... Oh," she realizes. "Not many, I guess. But I thought, you know, it was because he's mildly famous now - and he can't really trust that people from his past aren't trying to reconnect with him just to get money or favors from him."

Oh - Alexis has a point. Kate never thought of it this way before; how lonely Castle must have felt, even with the money and the fame and the blondes-

She feels a rush of tenderness for him, seeks his eyes; he's standing at the other end of the shop, laughing at something his mother said, but he's watching her with a mixture of pleasure and pride that is almost enough to make her blush.

"It's probably different for your dad," Kate agrees, tearing her gaze away from him. "But in my experience - people don't stay that close to their high school friends. I'm sure there are plenty of exceptions though-"

"It's okay," Alexis says, and there's a soft, playful smile on her face now. "You don't need to cheer me up, Kate. I like that you're honest with me. You never try to sugarcoat the truth. It's - refreshing."

Relief floods Kate's chest, and she arches an eyebrow, tries to laugh it off. "You might not love it when I start to rag you about your boyfriends," she warns, and then she hears her own words and all the unsaid things behind them, how she's planning to stay, how she's assuming that Alexis will want her opinion.

But Castle's daughter doesn't look upset at all; she smiles, gives Kate a long, knowing look. "No," she says at last. "I might not love it, but I'll probably still love you."

Kate's heart tangles in her chest; her words are gone and she can only squeeze Alexis's hand, praying inside:

_I hope you're right._

And

_I'll love you too._


	53. 54: Thursday

**54**

* * *

Even though it's ten at night, there's still a surprising amount of people on the beach, strolling around, lazing on the sand, even a few swimming in the ocean. The air smells sweet and there's music coming from somewhere, faint guitar notes that appeal to Kate, but Castle's hand tugs on hers as he directs them to a more quiet area.

She lets him, enjoying the soft sand that gives under her feet, the lull of the waves, the deep blue sky that stretches over them. The stars are bright, although not as visible as they were from the boat; the lights of the city outshine them.

"It's beautiful," she says, and the words fall short of expressing the overwhelming peace that fills her chest, soothes her heart. It feels, if only for a moment, like nothing wrong can ever happen again.

Castle murmurs his agreement, turns his head to look at her. The night is clear and she can see his face, bathed in moonlight, every familiar angle and line softened by his love for her.

Kate lifts on tiptoe, brushes their mouths together, feels his other hand come up to rest lightly on her waist.

"We should have told Martha and Alexis to come," she blurts out without thinking, but she means it. The moment is too good, too amazing - she wants to share it with as many people as she can, as if the weight of her happiness is too much to be carried alone.

Castle laughs quietly against her.

"My mother was pretty intent on trying the casino, remember? And I think Alexis was really excited to go with her." He kisses her slowly, a lazy exploration of her mouth, then grins at her through the dark, wiggling an eyebrow. "Don't complain, Kate. Making herself scarce is not exactly my mother's forte, you know."

She can't help the single note of laughter that escapes her, even though she's not sure it's really fair to Martha. "Really."

He rolls his eyes - interesting, how they've both influenced each other over the years - and lets out a plaintive sigh. "Honestly? I will never forgive her for that time in the bank."

That time in the-

Oh.

The quiet joy is suddenly drained from Kate's heart; she struggles to preserve some of it, keep it from leaking all out onto the sand as Castle goes on. "You looked so..." his fingers curl around her jaw, his palm cradling her chin. "You looked so happy to see me, Kate. I'd never seen you looking that happy."

Her hand closes on his biceps, holding him close, needing his warmth and solid strength as a talisman against the heartbreak of those memories, the rattle of the van as the bomb went off, shattered her hopes.

"I was so scared," she murmurs, powerless against the shiver that shakes her. "Castle. I heard the bomb go off and I stepped outside the van and-"

Oh god, even now, even when she knows he's safe, she remembers the terrible ripple of knowledge, of_ he's dead he's dead and there's nothing you can do, _her blood frozen in her veins.

Castle winds his arms around her, squeezes, and then there's the reassuring murmur of his voice at her ear. "I know, Kate."

But he doesn't-

Oh, he does. Her old apartment. Still, she cannot seem to stop the words from rolling out. "I thought,_ there is no possible way_-"

"I know," he repeats, holding her tight. He remains silent for a moment, and then he puts some space between them, meets her eyes with his crinkled ones. His smile always unravels the knots in her stomach.

"And see? This is exactly why I won't ever forgive my mother. You would have kissed me that day, if it hadn't been for her. _He's not the only one, you know_," he mimics, and he sounds so strikingly like Martha that a disbelieving laugh stumbles past Kate's lips.

"Seriously." He sounds so put-out still.

She's laughing for good now. Kate presses her fingers to her mouth but lets it out, feels her whole body loosening, relaxing with it. That man.

"What?" he exclaims. "You totally would have!"

"Really, Castle?" she shoots back when she finally gets her breath back. "In front of all the cops there, in front of the bomb squad? You think I would have kissed you?"

He gets that cute stubborn look on his face; she certainly does want to kiss him now.

"You would have," he claims, offended. "You can say what you want, Beckett. I know you would have. It was all over your face."

Was it? She can't remember anything but the relief, the pounding, stunning relief at the sight of him, unhurt, _safe_, waving at her from that bank vault. There wasn't space for anything else inside her, only the swirl of dizzying gratitude-

Oh. Well. Maybe he's right.

Kate lifts her hand and trails two fingers under his chin, pushes up against him to press a kiss to his mouth. A kiss for their missed one in the bank, slow but intense, the passionate scrape of her teeth followed by the thankful glide of her tongue, the joy of having him, finally having him, bubbling in her chest.

He moans, a low, needy sound that feels like it's been ripped from his throat, clinging to her a little too desperately; she soothes him with soft brushes of her lips, wants him as certain and happy as she is tonight.

Enough with the darkness.

His nose rests against hers for a moment; her hands are on both sides of his face, and she can feel the edges of his smile. It's beautiful and amazing; she hates how he turns her to mush without even trying.

She bites his lower lip, none too gently, watches his eyes snap open. "Catch me," she tells him with a feral smile; and she jerks away from him, breaks into a run towards the water.

She knows, without the shadow of a doubt, that he will follow.

* * *

"I'm wet," he whines, shuffling his feet as she opens the door with the keycard.

Kate chuckles low in her throat, gives him a look over her shoulder as she walks in. "Isn't that my line?"

He gasps, overdramatic but some genuine shock behind it too, because he doesn't think he'll ever get used to the nonchalant way she delivers those dirty little comments.

"Kate Beckett," he falsely chides, quickly following her into the living-room.

It seems like they're alone. He's never been so glad for his mother's obsession with blackjack.

Kate leans in to turn on one of the soft, golden living-room lights; he shamelessly leers at her ass, beautifully hugged by the still-damp fabric of her dress, and inches close enough that when she straightens up, she nearly walks back into his arms.

She makes a surprised sound and then laughs, swirls around to throw her arms around his neck. "Getting impatient, Ricky?" she murmurs, pressing her warm lips to his neck, making him shiver.

He can't even blame their impromptu dip in the sea; if he's honest, his clothes are mostly dry by now. The night is too warm to allow otherwise.

Kate's dress is deliciously cool under his palms, though, and he splays his hands at her back, pressing the length of her into him, pleased to feel her breathing pick up at his jaw. She nips at his skin and he catches her earlobe between his teeth in retaliation, teases it with his tongue until he has her gasping, melting into him.

"Castle," she breathes, dropping both hands to his chest as if to stop him when he starts walking her back to the master bedroom.

"What," he mumbles, seeks her lips with his, the smooth, appealing wetness of her mouth. She gives in to his kiss, rises up to meet him, her body so soft, pliant and wonderful; but after a few seconds she breaks away, offers her cheek when he pursues her.

He makes a dismayed sound that he's afraid might be construed as a moan.

"Castle," she smiles, scolding but tender. Her hand curls around his cheek; her eyes meet his, and he didn't expect the seriousness in them. "Hey. Shouldn't your mother and Alexis be back by now?"

He wants to groan. Really - talking to him about his daughter, when all he wants is to push her down onto their bed, lower his mouth to the curve of her hip, lick-

Ugh. Except Kate's concern is real; he can see that much, can see it shimmer in her dark eyes, and it will just not do to shrug it away. So he swallows the loud clamoring of his aroused body, tries his best to think.

Phone. Where's his phone?

"Want me to text Alexis?" he asks even as he finds the contours of the iPhone in his pocket, fishes it out.

"If you don't mind," she says, and he's suddenly struck by the tentativeness in her voice, like she's not sure she has a right to be worried at all.

She has every right.

He stares at her, opens his mouth to tell her so, but his phone starts vibrating in his hand. Oh. And look who it is.

"Hey, sweetie," he says as he picks up, hoping the strain in his voice can be blamed on exhaustion rather than lingering desire. "No, no, you're not interrupting. What are you guys up to?"

They're just coming out of the casino, Alexis tells him; since the night is so very lovely, they're going to walk home. He agrees - the streets are still busy, from what he saw, and they're really not far away - and tells her he'll see them soon.

He hangs up, his focus shifting back to Kate, whose mouth is curling up, relief dancing in her eyes. God, she's so beautiful. He drops his phone back into his pocket and hooks a hand behind her neck, pulls her to him, pressing a thorough, worshipping kiss to her mouth.

She gasps, and then gives back, arms wrapping around him, her tongue so hot and clever that he has to stop, has to stop if he's ever going to tell her-

"Thank you," he pants at her cheekbone when they part to breathe, trying to suck in as much oxygen as he can. Kate is playing with the corner of his mouth, suckling on the sensitive skin, and she takes a moment to respond.

"For what?" she finally murmurs, her nose flirting with his.

"Being a better parent than I am," he tells her, half joking but - no, actually. He's not joking. He's so grateful, _so grateful_, that he's found in Kate someone who will put her concern for his daughter's well-being over her own wants and needs. She should know.

He hears the startled breath that she releases; her body freezes against his, and he wonders if maybe that was too much. If he's moving too fast, like he usually is. _Never know when to shut up, do you, Rick?_

"How long until they come back?" she asks at last, still not looking at him, her forehead a brush away from his cheekbone.

"About twenty minutes, I guess," he estimates, wondering what she's thinking.

He doesn't wonder for long. Kate lifts her eyes to his, stuns him with a dark, heated look, her hand skimming his abdomen as she says, "Guess you'll have to be quick then."

Oh. Yes. Sure.

He can do quick.


	54. 55: Friday

**55**

* * *

Kate heads back inside for the paperback she left on the bedside table, sliding the glass door aside and slipping into the cool air. She pushes her sunglasses back up on her face and grins at Martha, who's making them frozen banana daiquiris - she is intent upon ferreting out the San Pedro secret recipe.

"Ooh, wait, darling. Try this before you go," she says, holding up a spoon. Kate diverts her path, takes the offered utensil, swallows hard at the burn and the ice.

"Uh," she says, coughing to clear her nasal passages. "It's - not quite as fruity as theirs."

"You're right; you're right," Martha laments, throwing up her hands. She's wearing this gorgeous flowing beach cover-up that exposes all of her still well-shaped legs. Kate hopes she ages half as gracefully. "However, I do not especially love bananas, so maybe I should add some more exotic fruit?"

"Sounds like a plan," Kate agrees, pushing back from the counter and towards the living room. "But in the meantime, Rick and I will gladly taste-test all your failures."

Martha laughs and gestures to cluttered kitchen. "Don't worry, dear girl. I am doing some tasting of my own."

When Kate makes it to their bedroom, she spots the novel right away, picks up with a wash of pleasure at being here, able to read on the beach with Castle and his family, able to take a break, able to have her only worry be about whether or not she's going to warp Alexis's John Green book with her wet fingers.

The moon, the endless stars, the infinity of the ocean, the flutter of brightly colored fish that dart through her fingers, the length of her own leg against the innumerable grains of sand, the too-red spots of color on Castle's nose and forehead when he turns to smile at her and winces halfway through. . .

These things will fade, given enough distance and space, but the moments themselves are timeless. Kate's not one for introspection under a beach umbrella with the sound of the ocean and laughter, but in the moment of quiet as she heads back to this little family, she recognizes that she is building something here.

She is building something when her whole life has been about clinging to a thing that was already demolished, already dilapidated, already crumbling around her.

* * *

When Kate settles in to read beside Castle in the ridiculously comfortable beach chair, he lifts a lazy hand and strokes it up her shin and back down, circles her ankle before letting go to tap the screen of his ipad. Presumably turning a page.

She takes a deeper breath as she looks at him, stunned by Richard Castle lounging in the beach chair beside her, sunglasses wrapping around his face and hiding his eyes, and suddenly he is a stranger.

She has no idea about this man, nothing but what he deigns to show her, and sometimes even that is a facade as well, or a finely-crafted mask, or maybe just what he thinks she needs to hear. What is he reading? She couldn't begin to guess, and that thought both frightens her and thrills her in a way she can only imagine comes from being in love.

Kate reaches out a hand to his head, puts her thumb at his temple, snug under the band of his sunglasses, and then threads her fingers through his hair a few times, over and over, watching him. He doesn't move except to keep reading, turning a page with the touch of a button, and his mouth half-curls in a smile, but whether from the book or from her fingers, she doesn't know.

If she doesn't ask, she'll never know. And even if he gives her an answer, will it be the truth? It usually is; she can read him like one of his novels (which pleases her inordinately). So yes, there are ways she can know him, but the whole being of him, the Rick that is neither his made-up name Castle nor the given name Rodgers - this is the man she has.

This is the man she loves, even if she doesn't know him as well as she'd like to. Even if she might never completely know him. Because this is the man she trusts.

The man who called her irritating and frustrating and in the same breath said he loves her; the man who planned a Belize vacation because he wanted to get her out of the city; the man who opened his door to her but put her away when she tried to solve their problems with a kiss, put her off until something like a conversation could be had.

No, there wasn't much talking that first night, but what was said was necessary.

"You know. You're right," he starts drolly, not turning to look at her, intent still on his book. "The staring is creepy. I concede. You've proven your point."

She grins widely, opens the book on her lap, but flicks her eyes back out to the ocean where Alexis is floating. Close, but still far enough to feel a little untethered.

Or so Kate can imagine.

* * *

"What are you reading?" she asks him.

Castle glances up from the page and into the too-bright glare of the sun, wincing and pulling back as if that will help. It doesn't of course. Kate shifts and suddenly she's blocking the sun, and he unsquints his eyes and grins at her.

"Thanks. Uh, I'm reading Nick Hornby."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you know him. _About a Boy_,_ High Fidelity_-"

"Oh, yeah. I saw the movies-"

"Arg," he growls, but she's already shaking her head and poking him in the calf with her bare toes.

"And then I went out and read the books. Let me finish my sentence before you judge me, you elitist book snob-"

He dives for her, grabbing her bare sides to - what was his master plan here? tickle her? really? Kate Beckett? he was going to tickle Kate Beckett? She knees him off of her and shoves him back, but she's rolling her eyes and actually laughing, and then her fingers are curling at his neck and she's kissing him.

He's good with that. He likes the play of her tongue at his lips and the way she slides right in, like how he imagines her taking a bath. How he has actually _seen_ her take a bath. Leisurely.

When she pulls back, he kisses the corner of her mouth, the rise of her cheek, the sharp angle of her jaw, and then rubs his thumb at her skin as he lets her go. She doesn't. Let go that is. She hangs on to him and watches him for a moment.

"What book?"

"Huh?"

"What Nick Hornby novel are you reading?"

He grins. "Actually, it's a collection of his columns about reading. _The Polysyllabic Spree_. He lists at the top what books he intends to read and then in another column what he actually read, and then he writes about what he read. And sometimes he writes about how he meant to read and didn't. It's pretty good."

"So I was right," she murmurs, lifting an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Elitist book snob."

"Hey now."

"If the shoe fits-"

"I write mystery novels, Kate Beckett. Best-selling mystery novels. If I wrote stuff that never sold, then yes, you could call me an elitist book snob. But I will read anything. I don't care, so long as it's good."

"So that makes you more of a what? A book whore?"

He laughs out loud at that, sees her grin cracking open across her face as well. She's amazing. She's more than he expected and he realizes now how inadequate his love for her has been, and really, he's got to step up his game with her, because she ought to have so much more than this. He loves her and he will work to keep loving her, and more importantly, he will work to keep her loving him.

"You could call it that," he answers instead, because he doesn't really have any answers to the mystery and riddle of Kate Beckett other than wrapping his hand in hers and holding on for the duration, for eternity.

She's still grinning at him, amusement and relief both shimmering there - for what, he has no idea - and so he puts his reader aside and stands up, holding out his hand to her.

"Let's go float out there for a while. Get lost. Be unbound from the earth."

She breathes out, drops the book as she gives him her hand, standing up beside him.

"Yeah. Funny. I was just thinking that."

And the Kate lifts up on her toes and kisses the underside of his jaw, and then she's the one dragging him out to the waves, through the hot sand and into the cool, blessed relief of the water.


	55. 56: Saturday

**56**

* * *

They travel together in a cab that is mostly a gutted out - get this - Crown Vic (oh the irony), Kate on Castle's lap and Martha in the middle with Alexis squeezed into the far right. The front passenger seat is gone, the driver smiles too much, and Kate feels completely not safe.

Rick's arms are around her like a seatbelt but there are no seatbelts, so it doesn't do them any good. Kate is hunched over and pressed into the door - what is no longer a door, really, but just the metal frame. No handle. She swears she can see the dirt road beneath Castle's feet.

He grips her tighter and they carom off the corners rather than actually turn them. Kate braces her forearm against the driver's seat and the door, closes her eyes so she can't see the end coming.

When the lurch to a stop, she stays there for a moment, just breathing.

Castle squeezes her middle, his mouth at her shoulder blade. "We're here. Get off me."

She scrambles out after Martha and Alexis, all of them having to climb over the non-existent front passenger seat to exit the vehicle, and then Kate stands, blinking in the sunlight as she looks at the airport.

San Pedro's airport is a grassy strip, some gravel, a trailer painted purple, and a deck painted turquoise.

Has she so quickly forgotten their forty-five minute trip from Belize City to San Pedro? She must have blacked it out, because the airport - the landing strip - bewilders her all over again.

Martha grabs the handle of her rolling suitcase which their taxi driver has unloaded and tromps toward the covered deck. Castle follows while Kate and Alexis watch on in real consternation.

"I don't think it's safe," Alexis sighs. "But we did come in here."

"It's got to be safe," Kate replies, but she's not sure she believes it herself.

* * *

Martha and another American couple are the only ones on the nine-passenger plane when it takes off. Martha is waving from the cockpit where she has been allowed to sit with the pilot - no kidding - and Castle drops his hand to Kate's shoulder when the wings dip and turn out of their sight.

"I thought they were going to crash into the ocean," Alexis shivers. "Did you see the way it kept struggling to get up?"

"And only four people in it," Kate adds, still watching the sky. Maybe for an explosion. She's not sure.

Castle claps his hands and rubs them together. "Well now. Gram's gone back to New York. So what's on for the rest of our day?"

Alexis crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm actually really tired. I could use a siesta."

"Boring," he protests, hooking his arm through Kate's and then Alexis's. "Mom's away; the mice will play."

"That doesn't make any sense, Castle," Kate sighs, but she lets him tug her back towards their waiting cab.

For another ride of her life.

* * *

They rent boogey boards and body surf for four hours, slapping into the waves until their bodies are red with it and their fingers and toes are burning from churning sand.

Castle is surprised by how much Kate seems to abandon herself to the waves, surprised by the parts of her he's never seen before but knew had to exist. She's not riding a bike in tight black leather, but surfing on a boogey board is close enough, her smile brighter than the sunlight beaming down around them.

After that it really is time for a nap, and they trudge back inside, everyone laughing, telling stories on him (no, he didn't think that was a shark, no matter what they say). Kate's fingers trail at his side as she moves into the kitchen, grabs a glass and fills it with water, drinks it down in a couple gulps.

Alexis is heading straight back to her bedroom, unraveling her hair from its wet braid, and Kate puts her glass on the counter even as he watches her, still surprised by her.

By the things he doesn't know but which keep showing up.

She pats his shoulder as she moves past him towards their bedroom; he lets her go. He's not tired really, and she is, he knows that, can see it in the lines around her eyes. So he doesn't follow her back there.

He gets out his laptop and he opens one of the Nikki Heat documents and sits there, staring at it.

But for the first time in a long time, everything is too good, too right, for words to come.

Castle watches the white expanse of the page, lets it snow blind him for a minute or more, lets it work its way into his mind and blank out everything else as well.

And then he closes his laptop and gets up, heads for their room.

And Kate.

The only thing he wants.


	56. 57: Sunday

**57**

* * *

Kate wakes slowly, tries to remember where she is, why the sun is so brilliant in her eyes, why her mouth feels thick and dry. She turns on her side to block the light, still drugged with sleep, and finds Castle sacked out beneath her on the couch.

On the couch. Why are they asleep on the couch?

She lifts her cheek from his chest and blinks in the afternoon light coming in through the sliding glass doors. Sitting up, she pushes off of Castle and he grunts in his sleep.

Alexis is sitting in the chair with the television on mute, her laptop on her knees; she glances over at Kate and grins.

"Good nap?"

"We napped?" she groans, wincing as she sits at Castle's hip, rubs her arm which is now tingling with numbness.

"Well. . .I'm not going to presume. . ."

Kate laughs, startled, and has to remind herself that this is what they do, these Castles. "Ah. Well. Don't ask, don't tell policy?"

Alexis laughs back, lightly, her eyes warm when she looks at them. That's good. That works. "I got back from that water aerobics class-"

"Oh yeah, I forgot. How was that?" Kate asks, hissing as the blood returns to her fingers.

"It was so cool. We were in this really shallow area of the Caye, and I could see straight to the bottom. The instructor was this woman who moved here like ten years ago on a mission trip, and she never left."

"Wow." Kate winces and shakes her arm out, moving to stand, but Castle suddenly snatches at the belt loop of her shorts, reigns her back in. "Castle."

"Yeah, that's me," he mumbles, and turns into her, apparently still half-asleep, his knee nudging her hip.

Kate looks back at him and sees his eyes slowly opening, focusing on her, and his hand tightens on her shorts, warm, his fingers heavy at her thigh.

"Hey," she murmurs. His cheeks are still a little pink from the sun; his smile spreads slowly and makes his eyes close again. She strokes her fingers through his hair, rubbing her thumb at his jaw. He needs to shave.

"Hey."

"Aw, too cute. Now, what are we doing for dinner?" Alexis says, and Kate can hear the eye-roll in her voice.

"Hush, child. We're having a moment." Castle tilts his head to look at his daughter and Kate grins at him.

Alexis snorts. "Dinner. I'm starving."

"Moment's over," Kate says softly, biting her bottom lip as she watches him wake. She's arrested by how the light leaves shadows across his face, the crags and valleys that she's come to know so well now painted in darkness.

"Moment seems to be extending," he murmurs, lifting an eyebrow, causing sun to spill strangely over his nose, his eyebrows. She dusts her fingers along his brow and hears Alexis clearing her throat.

"Ah, sorry. Dinner. Right." Kate turns and looks at the girl, grabs the fingers still clutching her waist so she can twist out of his grip, stand up. Castle mutters as she goes, but Alexis casts her a grateful look.

Yeah. Too much. They have a week alone here when Alexis goes back to New York, so-

"Dinner. Can we try that place Gram and I found?"

"That looked good," Kate says, trying to help the conversation along. "I'm pretty hungry myself."

Castle sits up on the couch, rubs at his face. "Sure. Let me change my shirt. We'll go in five minutes."

* * *

Kate sits on the same side as Castle, Alexis across from them in the narrow wooden booth. The floor is cool sand and Kate slips her flipflops off to let her toes run through it, tracing designs.

His thigh is warm against hers, the edge of his knee at her fingertips. He's wearing dark wash jeans and a tshirt that make his shoulders seem suddenly so very broad, his arms thick. She finds herself breathless when she catches the way he keeps looking over at her, his smile deep and wide, blue as the ocean.

She orders fish, of course, and so does he, but Alexis goes for chicken tenders and a basket of fries. The waitress brings their drinks to the table along with the french fries, and Kate reaches over to steal a few.

Alexis nudges the ketchup her way and Kate smiles, tries not to feel grateful for the gesture. But she is.

When their orders come, they sit mostly in silence, Alexis apparently as starving as she claimed after her water aerobics class, and Kate half-distracted by the way the cool sand feels between her toes and the warm thigh next to hers.

Castle is the chatty one, but he's too busy stroking his fingers around and around her knee, along her leg, to come up with any conversation. Or at least, that's how it feels to Kate, who shifts in the bench seat and gets the waitress to refill her water.

Alexis finally tells stories about her water aerobics class, explains the weird movements, how hard it is to run in water against the current, why the instructor stayed in Belize, everything else that Kate is trying to pay attention to but can't quite manage.

Castle pays the check at the table and suddenly they're getting up, some mutual signal Kate missed, and she has to search her feet through the sand to find her shoes, blushing as Alexis looks back at her.

"Kate?"

"I - have to slip on my shoes," she laughs. She glances to Castle and sees him holding back a grin. "I took them off because the sand. . ."

Alexis has a spark in her eye. "Oh. Not because you were playing footsie?"

Kate huffs a laugh and finds her right sandal, reaches under the table to slip it on.

"There was, alas, no footsie," Castle sighs, drawing an arm around his daughter for a side hug. "Although I would have welcomed it."

"Oh, here it is," Kate says in relief, pulls on her other shoe, and slides out of the booth.

Alexis glances down at her. "I get that there's sand in here, but wasn't it gross? I mean, half a french fry and pieces of someone's dinner-"

"Ew," Castle says, taking a step back from Kate. "People's mouth germs."

"Whatever," Kate laughs, rolling her eyes. "You know me. If I'd felt stuff down there-"

"There's always something down there-"

"Not in front of the kid," Alexis says with a nudge of her hip, flashing a look at him.

Kate blinks, and then blushes, finally getting it. "Was that dirty?" She shoves on Castle's shoulder as they head out of the restaurant.

"No. It wasn't. Really. Alexis, you have a filthy mind."

"It was too. Just the way you said it was dirty."

Kate sighs and pushes them both out the door, then finds Castle's hand searching for hers. She laces their fingers together, smiles up at him as he talks to his daughter. He catches her look and smiles back, leaning down for a moment to kiss her - quick and light, the first kiss from him that hasn't had his full attention behind it, and she-

She really likes it.

Likes that he's trading wit or insults with his daughter and distractedly kissing Kate as they leave the restaurant, like it's every day, like it's habit, routine, like he just wants a kiss and so he leans over to take it.

As they walk back to their villa, hand in hand with the breeze playing with her hair and the sound of the ocean so unceasing and eternal, Kate lets herself believe, finally, completely, in _this._

Doing this. With him.

She believes.


	57. 58: Monday

**58**

* * *

Rick finds Kate at the far end of the beach, walking side by side with Alexis through the surf. He grabs both their hands and tugs backwards, grinning.

"What?" Kate says, resisting his pull, digging her feet in. As usual.

"Come on. I found something."

She looks like she wants to argue, but Alexis is already at his side, _good girl_, and so Kate just rolls her eyes and steps across the sand towards them. He keeps her hand, their fingers loose, and he watches the horizon for a moment, pinpointing his destination, before he turns to look at Kate.

"It's worth it. Promise."

She just smirks at him, sliding her eyes over him like a hot hand. He leans in and kisses her cheek, then tugs Alexis against his side to give her a hug.

"Too muggy out here," his daughter says, shrugging him off. He gives her a pitiful look and she rolls her eyes back at him, loops her arm through his instead. "There. Happy now?"

"Yes, much better." And he would say something about having both his girls, ung, no, his women? no, that would get him a swift kick or a twist of his ear, and he can't think it without wincing-

"Don't even say it," Kate murmurs darkly at his shoulder and he turns to give her a startled look.

"You are seriously _reading my mind. _But I was having trouble coming up with the words to say it," he answers honestly, sighing a little, and her lips quirk up at that.

Oh, look. He made her smile.

Castle grins back and wriggles his fingers in her hand, squeezes a little, and then leads them down the beach towards his discovery.

* * *

He sits down on the porch swing and pats either side of him, inviting them both. Alexis snuggles up first, kicking her feet through the sand, and then Kate drops down as well, slower to snuggle, but fitting up nicely against him.

They stare out over the so blue water and he pushes off with his toes, sets the swing to rocking. Because of his angle, the force makes first one side go back and then the other, crooked, and it takes a moment for the chains to untwist and swing straight.

"Where did this come from?" Kate laughs then, turning her cheek towards his shoulder and resting there.

He goes momentarily speechless at the soft touch of her hair against his neck, his arm, and he can't formulate a response.

Alexis leans into him on the other side. "I bet someone decided they needed a swing out here and just dragged it down to the beach."

"But who?" Kate murmurs. "There's no hotel right here, no private houses. The beach goes straight back to that parking lot."

"Public access porch swing," Castle says finally. "Someone just - wants to swing."

"It's kind of amazing," his daughter offers. "The breeze and the water and the sand. All while sitting on a swing. A vacation within a vacation."

Kate sighs contentedly on his other side and he nuzzles his nose into his daughter's hair, wants to do the same to Kate but-

Oh hell, go for it.

He turns and drops his lips to the crown of Kate's hair, strokes his cheek across the top of her head. She curls a leg up, her knee under her chin, and leans into him, her hand on his thigh, warm and heavy.

He slides his palm up her arm to her shoulder, cups her neck and brushes his thumb at her nape, the soft hair there. His heart pounds even as his whole body eases back into the white wooden seat, the water brilliant and reflecting the glory of the sun, Alexis and Kate on either side of him, his toes crunching grains of sand as he pushes off, the swing lazy and arcing.

Kate's mouth comes against his shoulder with murmurs he can't hear, only feel as they vibrate through his shirt and into his skin. Warm, responsive. He curls his fingers at her ear, stroking, and feels the weight of her against him. His. . .what?

Kate. His partner.

His family.

All of it.


	58. 59 and 60: Tuesday and Wednesday

**59 & 60**

* * *

Kate is pushed violently from sleep.

Her heart pounds as she lifts her head, a gasping clutch at air, and then she realizes that Castle's leg is slung over her hips and his arm is around her neck, tight.

She wriggles out, escaping that sensation of night-time panic as she does, and slips out of bed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Kate heads for the bathroom, getting some distance, and runs water in the sink, splashing it in her face, as she tries to recall what woke her.

No dreams that she can remember-

Oh well, actually. She was dreaming about the beach. Oppressive heat, the sun in her face, searching for her shades in the bag and not finding them. The water curling at her toes. She can't understand why this would wake her up, doesn't know why it's nearly midnight and she's sweaty and awake.

Kate rubs her eyes, dries her face with the towel, and cracks a yawn as she heads back into their bedroom. The moonlight is brilliant and blue, illuminating a path right back to their bed. Castle lays in the middle, sprawled, which is actually rather unlike him-

Oh.

It was his dream.

She bites her lip and crawls back into bed, strokes her palm lightly down his back. His whole body is rigid with some vision, sweat sticking the sheet to him, his breath labored. She can see his eyes moving rapidly behind his eyelids, and she brushes her fingers through his hair.

He doesn't ease, doesn't move, doesn't speak. She thinks she's heard that the muscles are inactive, almost paralyzed during REM sleep; Castle is definitely dreaming. He must have woken her, and Kate - so used to waking herself in the night with her own nightmares - automatically assumed it was more of the same.

She carefully slides down in bed, facing him, and presses her hand against his chest. His heart is pounding. It could be good, it could be terrible; she has no way of knowing.

He looks different in the moonlight with his body trapped in dreams. Like he's battling with something, like he's striving. Wrestling it out. Maybe the dream is good - maybe he's riding on the back of a dragon through a night sky, or maybe it's awful, and someone is dying, and he can't reach them.

Kate studies the lines of his face, draws her other hand to those harsh edges of his nose, smooths her fingers along his jaw. His eyes twitch back behind his lids, and she leans in closer to kiss the soft spot just under his chin.

Warm, sleep-heavy, a little damp with perspiration - his body is so large in the bed. He has his own smell; it's begun to permeate her clothes, settle in her hair, so when she wakes up, she smells the back of his knee or the side of his neck. And warm; he's so warm.

Kate slides in a little closer, draws his arm over her waist to get it out of her way. She presses a kiss just above the collar of his tshirt, wonders why he sleeps in a shirt at all since it's so hot in Belize. They have air conditioning, but it sometimes barely makes a dent in the afternoons.

Her mouth is at his neck when he swallows; she feels it against her nose and smiles, lets her body curl into his, sweaty as it is, hot as it is still in their room. She scissors her legs under the sheets and finds his hip with her hand, liking the beached shipwreck of his body.

Oh, that sounds rather insulting. But it's not. It's beautiful and thrilling, a new thing suddenly washed up on her shore, a discovery of her own in the darkness. He's usually awake for this, she thinks with a smile, and brings her own body close to his, pressing against him.

She can feel him breathing, doesn't know when his rapid bursts of air shifted to this slower in and out. His back is still taut with unreleased energy, but there's less tension, more power in it. Maybe his dream has shifted to something pleasant, maybe he's coming out of his REM cycle.

Maybe he feels her too, and responds to her touch.

Kate grins in the darkness and shakes her head against her own foolish thoughts, humming as her body heats. She endures it for a little while longer, waiting for him to settle, waiting for his dreams to finish, even as the air grows stifling. A final stilted breath against her hair and then Castle is completely at ease again, melting into the mattress.

She escapes while she still can, slipping away from him, tenting her tshirt to get some air, blowing her hair off her face. It's sticky again, and the clock is flipping over past midnight, and the moon is so white and wide in the sky, like a gaping smile.

She turns away from him, her fingers still tingling with the sense memory of his body, the plane of his back and the jut of his hipbone, and she closes her eyes again.

Sleep opens its arms to her, cool and dark, and she walks in.

* * *

She wakes with a little moan as her consciousness is dragged up, feels her body so heavy and deep in the bed.

Fingers at her hip, dipping into her waist. "I had a sexy dream about you. Wanna try it?"

She laughs, still with her eyes closed, pushes her body back into his. He clutches at her thigh, drapes over her, an elbow to the mattress and making her dip towards his arm. He chuckles in her ear and his mouth is wet and warm at her jaw.

"Back to sleep, Castle."

"In a minute," he murmurs, and the sounds of the words reverberate in her bones.

"I'm tired. You woke me once already."

"I did?" he gasps, and his body is practically angled over hers now, his face in front of her while his legs tangle behind hers. "For this? No way. I surely would have remembered-"

"No," she smiles, opening her eyes. His are feral blue and brilliant in the darkness, hungry. "A dream I guess. You were still asleep."

"Did you feel me up, Beckett? Is that why I had such a sexy dream?"

"You were well on your way already-"

"So you _did_ feel me up. I knew it. Usually those kinds of dreams have _help_. If you know what I mean." He settles back with a sigh of appreciation, his palm running up and down her side over and over, petting or settling, she's not sure.

"No, actually. I don't know what you mean," she says, turning her head to look at him just over her shoulder. "And no. You can't show me. Let me sleep."

"Yes, but see, those two things aren't mutually exclusive. That's the great part. I can feel you up _while_ you sleep, and-"

"Why are you so awake?" she interrupts, elbowing him aside to see past him. The clock says it's only two in the morning. "Castle. Back to bed. Now."

"I'm already in bed. And so are you. So close your eyes, have sweet dreams-"

"You aren't allowed to grope me in my sleep."

"Sure I am. Sharing a bed with me is tacit permission to-"

"I can find another bed," she says, deadpan, watching him with still and untroubled eyes.

His mouth drops open. He blinks. "No. Don't - no."

She grins and twists just a little to press her mouth to his, closed, quick, maybe a little too happy for two in the morning.

"You really _were_ feeling me up," he mutters against her lips, rolls with her to snuggle at her back, too large, too warm, too heavy, but good even so.

"Maybe a little. Nicely. No groping was involved."

"For the record, groping is okay with me."

She laughs again, a soft sigh of a breath, and feels his arm draw around her, his forehead tucking in at her neck, his nose against her spine, lips at her back. She laces her fingers through his and brings his palm to her chest.

He gropes.

She kicks back at him and he yelps, laughing.

"Message received, Beckett."

* * *

Her dreams are hot - sun and sand, and then his body, the press of him against her - and she doesn't know if it's because of his illicit groping or just the suggestion of possible groping, but the next morning he won't tell her.

He just grins at her and makes his eyebrows dance, offers her a long, smoldering kiss that has her reaching for more.


	59. 61: Thursday

**61**

* * *

Jeez. Where has she gone to now?

All day like this, in and out of his view, flickering at the edges. He wishes she'd pick a spot and settle to it. Either she wants to be near him or she wants time to herself.

Castle stops at the entrance to their bedroom, finds her on her stomach on the bed, head propped up with one hand as she reads a manuscript.

She brought those with her?

He steps over the threshold and stands silently for a moment, watching her read, and then she turns her head just enough, a slight movement of permission, and he comes forward, kneeling beside the bed, elbows on the mattress.

Castle runs his hand up the back of her calf and she twitches him off, pulling her body away as she turns on her side. "Hey," she murmurs.

"Hey."

"I'm trying to work," she supplies, giving him an eyebrow.

He shrugs. "Okay."

"You can survive without me for another hour or so."

He can tell that she intended for it to be a softly spoken question, but it comes out a little harsh. Ah. Too much togetherness.

Yeah, actually, he's kinda hit his limit too. Which is interesting. He's never gone through a honeymoon period this strange before. Or short. Or long, actually? Because it's been weeks, but it's also been four years-

Really, he has no idea. Kate Beckett is a singular entity, and a relationship with her is like no other in his life.

And that pleases him.

"Alexis and I were heading out to the beach," he says by way of explanation. "Just came to tell you."

"Oh. Good. Yeah," she says back, her mouth in a half-apologetic smile.

No need; he's not offended. He feels the same, and that's kind of a relief.

"You. . .don't want me to come?" she murmurs, her eyes not quite meeting his.

"Not especially," he says back warmly, grinning at her.

She startles a glance at him, their eyes locking now, and then she laughs. "Good."

"It might be longer than an hour, so. . ."

"No, yeah. Good. That's good, Castle."

He shifts back to his feet, rises from beside the bed. His hand brushes her shoulder as he turns to leave and she catches him, squeezing his fingers.

He wriggles them in his her grip and heads out.

* * *

Kate stands at the open sliding glass doors, presses her fingertips to the screen as she watches Castle and Alexis standing at the shoreline.

After a long moment studying him, she's convinced. He's okay. They're okay. Even when she's. . .like this.

She turns away, feels the cool breeze against her skin as it snakes through the screen. Kate moves back into the bedroom, picks up the manuscript, the pen, and settles again in the bed.

The quiet is welcome, and she closes her eyes for just a second, reveling in it.

And then she goes back to the page.

* * *

He checks the time and is surprised to find that he and Alexis have been out here for three hours. "Hey. Time to re-apply, Alexis."

She glances back at him, then hurries over and grabs him by the wrist, pulling his phone into her line of sight.

"It's one-thirty already? Dad!"

"What?"

"Lunch. We totally missed lunch. And I should've reapplied sunblock like an hour ago."

"Oops?"

"If I burn right before I have to go home, I'm gonna kill you."

"Your own fault. Never appoint me time-keeper. You know I'm a procrastinator."

Alexis sighs and digs around in the bag for her sunblock, whips it out. "What about lunch?"

"I wasn't hungry till you said something. Brunch was only four hours ago."

"Breakfast."

"Brunch."

"Whatever," she rolls her eyes, smears sunscreen down her arm, works it into the skin at her shoulder. "What about Kate?"

"What about Kate?"

"Well. I mean. Don't you - aren't you supposed to - well, shouldn't you see if we should-" Alexis stumbles into silence and huffs at her father. "Help me out here."

"I think Kate can do her own thing. In fact, I think Kate will have already done her own thing."

"Oh."

"What's the 'oh' for?"

"Just. Is that how it's supposed to go?"

Castle gives her a look, takes the sunblock from her and squirts some into his palm. He makes a motion for her to turn and she gives him her back.

As he rubs the lotion into her skin quickly, he explains. "Kate's not the kind of person who holds back. You know that. If she wanted lunch, then she ate lunch."

"But shouldn't she have come out here and asked _you_ if you wanted to get lunch with her?"

"Why?"

His daughter growls and her shoulders shrug under his hands. "I don't know. Because that's what couples do?"

"Do they have to? Because, jeez, if Kate has to get my permission to eat-"

"Not what I'm talking about, and you know it."

He sighs back at her. "I know. But Alexis, this thing with Kate is just going to be different, I think. It already is different. And I'm glad for that - if it's going to last, then it has to be different. Don't you think?"

"It's different because you guys know each other so well," Alexis says quietly. "Because you were friends first. For so long. That will make it last too."

"Yeah, I think that changes the dynamic. Sure."

"But she loves you. And you love her."

"Yeah." His heart races suddenly, even as he says it so matter-of-fact. Because something in his heart will always quicken to the idea that Kate Beckett wants him. Chooses him. Over everything else.

"Well, but maybe you should go in there and ask her anyway."

"Ask her what?"

"If she wants to eat lunch with us."

"She probably already-"

"Maybe. But if you ask her, then you let her know that. . .that you're considering her too now. That she's a part of this."

He watches the side of his daughter's face for a moment, and then rubs his palms down her arms to get rid of the last of the sunblock.

"All right."

Alexis turns around, faces him.

"You don't think that's too clingy though?" he says in a moment's hesitation, hating that he's asking at all. But this is Beckett after all.

Alexis smiles. "No. I think it means you missed her for the last few hours."

"I did," he answers softly, surprised to realize it's true.

"Then go invite her to lunch with us."

* * *

Kate has just finished the third manuscript, pleased with herself for getting through it, when her stomach growls in warning.

She checks the time and sighs to herself - she forgot to eat lunch and without Castle's eager, _let's go eat now_ face, she had no one to not-so-subtly remind her.

Kate sits up in bed and wonders where he went to.

She thought, this morning, that if she had to spend another minute with him she was going to do some damage, but now that she's alone. . .

She misses him.

Kate drops the manuscript back on top of her duffle bag, heads for the bedroom door. She steps into the living room at the same time that Castle comes back through the sliding glass doors.

He's red-nosed again, cheeks kissed with too much sun, freckles glowing darkly from his forearms, his biceps. He stops when he sees her, something hesitant flickering in his eyes.

"Alexis and I are stopping for lunch. Wanna come? We're going to walk down to that deli."

Her stomach growls again and she grins widely at him, inordinately pleased he came back for her.

"Yeah. I do actually. Let me find my sandals."

He grins back, easy and wide, and her heart flips in her chest to see it.

His hand raises and catches the pocket of her shorts, tugs, and she's suddenly up against his chest, warm with sun.

His mouth comes to hers in a slow kiss that goes nowhere, does nothing, but only, somehow, reaffirms everything. Everything right in that chaste, sweet meeting of their lips.

"Hurry," he says then, drawing back from her only slightly. "We're starving."

Yeah. Suddenly she is too.

And she could eat.


	60. 62: Friday

**62**

* * *

"Dad?"

Alexis comes into the living-room, already dressed even though it's only nine in the morning. She woke up at eight and couldn't go back to sleep; she's not sure if it's the sunlight pouring in through the wooden blinds, or the excitement of being back in New York soon.

Maybe her body just decided she'd had enough sleep.

"Kate?"

The door to the master bedroom is closed, which means they're probably still asleep. Kate gets up pretty early, or at least she did at the beginning of their vacation, but apparently Castle's habits have started to grow on her. Either that, or he's holding her hostage.

Alexis's nose crinkles at the thought.

She hesitates at the door. She could go to the pool alone, sure, make the most of it before the heat is at its worst... but she wouldn't mind some company, to be honest. She presses her lips together, gently rasps her knuckles against the wood.

"Dad?" she calls quietly.

Still no answer. The silence is so complete; at least they're not in the middle of-

taking a nap.

Her lower lip pulled between her teeth, Alexis turns the handle, cracks the door open. Their room is about as light-filled as hers, maybe even more so, and she finds herself squinting her eyes against the brightness.

When she's adjusted, though, a small, irresistible smile plays on her lips.

Her father is sprawled in the middle of the bed, sleeping on his stomach, face mashed into the pillow and brown hair (scattered with grey now, which Alexis loves to tease him about) in disarray.

Kate is curled up on her side, facing her... partner (it feels wrong to call them anything else). She has both her forearms folded in front of her chest, as if for protection; or so it would seem if she wasn't loosely cradling Castle's hand between her two.

Jeez. Even asleep, they're adorable.

The girl is strongly tempted to jump on the bed and wake them both, but at the same time they make such a charming picture. It would be criminal. She bobs her head and sighs, retreats slowly.

She'll leave them a note, take her book down to the pool so she can either swim or read.

Her dad's probably not going to sleep in too late, anyway; he mentioned last night that he had great plans for her last day, that she would "go out with a bang." A phrase that Alexis has always found rather scary, if she's honest, but coming from her dad - it can't be so bad.

Well, it can, but... at least she knows it will be fun.

She draws a heart above the "i" of Alexis, another one after her name, and she leaves the note where they can't miss it, propped against the coffee machine.

The pool is beckoning.

* * *

Kate is the one who finds Alexis's note - Castle is in the shower - and she hates herself for a split second. Technically, yeah, they went to bed pretty late, and then this morning Rick woke her early because he, hmm, needed her help to get back to sleep, and-

Yeah.

They slept in.

It's only ten, so it's not the end of the world, but Kate hates to think that she can come between Alexis and her father like this, that she's maybe a bad influence on Castle.

She waited all this time so she could be good for him. This is not-

"Hey," he calls from the bedroom, stepping into view. He's toweling his hair dry, his eyes very blue in the morning light, and as always her heart gives a little.

"Alexis left us a note," she answers, the guilt surging again as she waves the square of paper towards him. "She's gone to the pool."

"Oh?" He throws the towel over the back of a chair, leaning in to catch his daughter's message, his eyes quickly scanning it. She's watching him, somewhat anxiously, and she doesn't miss the flash of shame across his eyes.

Damn.

Kate bites her lip and turns back to the coffee machine, working it in neat, sharp movements, and she's so focused on what she's doing that she almost jumps when Castle's large hands come to bracket her waist.

"Kate," he says softly, and crap, he knows exactly what she's thinking, doesn't he?

"You should go meet up with her," she answers, determined to ignore the gentleness in his voice that she doesn't deserve. "Go, Castle, and I'll bring down your coffee when it's ready. Anything else you want?"

His fingers curl over her skin, the contact almost as lovely as if she were naked, and her eyes slide closed. "Kate," he says again, a tinge of reproach coloring his words.

"Castle," she sighs. There's a brief silence, then she breaks. "Go be with your daughter. Please."

His mouth brushes her ear, the side of her neck, the curve of her shoulder. "I will," he offers soothingly. "But sleeping in was my fault, Kate. I should have set my alarm, that's all. Alexis will forgive me."

She chews on the inside of her cheek, but he's already shifting her in his embrace, turning her towards him so he can press a loving kiss to her lips. She doesn't deserve this-

"You deserve every good thing in the world, Kate Beckett," he declares solemnly, his eyes so intense as he reads into her. "And then some."

Another light touch of his mouth, and he's moving away, grabbing sunblock and sunglasses as he goes, waving at her before he closes the door. Kate smiles, can't help herself, and waves back even though she's perfectly aware of how stupid they look.

She turns back to the coffee machine, her chest fluttering, and even the thought of Alexis at the pool by herself cannot quite make her feel heavy again.

* * *

His daughter's sitting by the pool, her calves immersed in the water, a large straw hat on her head that Martha must have left behind. She seems completely absorbed in her book and Castle pauses for a moment, watching the graceful line of her back, the pretty contrast between her blue swimsuit and her light golden skin, the red strands falling from the bun that she seems to have gathered under the hat.

Alexis. His pumpkin.

He can't believe she's eighteen already.

He still hasn't moved when she lifts her head, alerted by a spidey sense maybe, and reaches to slide her sunglasses down her nose.

"Hey, dad," she says gaily; she closes her book and he takes it as an invitation, comes to her side, sinking down to the tiles.

He jumps back up again. "Ow ow ow," he whines. "This is _burning_ - how do you even-"

Alexis smiles that clever little grin that he's seen a number of times over the years, lifts her thigh so he can see that she's sitting on her folded beach towel. Right.

Beach towel. That's the thing he forgot.

"Share with me?" he pouts, and she laughs, humors him by giving up half, spreading it out for him to sit.

"Did you put on sunblock?" she asks, her eyes narrowing knowingly. "Cause you're gonna burn, Dad."

He grabs the spray that he brought with him, beams at his daughter, putting as much five-year-old as he can in his expression.

"Can you do me?"

She lets out a sound between a snort and a laugh. "Gross, Dad!"

He thinks over his words. Nothing he hasn't said to her before, honestly. "I think somebody's mind is in the gutter," he says, arching a pleased eyebrow.

Alexis blushes fiercely but she stares back. "And whose fault is that, I wonder," she shoots back, eyebrows raised at him.

The good thing with being sunburned is that even if you're a little embarrassed, there's no way it'll show. "I'll do the front if you do my back," he offers, a compromise that isn't really one, because it's not like he needs his daughter to lather his whole body with sunscreen.

Ew. He understands what she means now. Somehow there's something wrong with that image.

"Sure, I'll do your back," Alexis laughs cheekily, as if she can read his mind. "I don't want to hang around with a walking lobster."

"Always so considerate."

"I know, I'm the perfect daughter." She gives him a sparkling look that can't mean anything good, her mouth curling up with enjoyment as she dramatically declaims, "Now, if only you could embrace the role of father with the same level of commitment-"

His loud groan drowns the end of her line - really, he's glad his mother isn't here, because if she could hear Alexis quoting her? She'd never stop gloating about it. Castle reaches for his daughter, deciding that this affront deserves the highest punishment in his book.

Tickling.

"Dad, no," Alexis protests laughingly, struggling against him, twisting to escape his nimble fingers. She doesn't stand a chance. "Come on - you're not even finished with the sunblock-"

"Distracting me will not work, daughter," he tells her in his sternest voice. "You have been sentenced to five minutes of tickling, and you shall endure them-"

Her left leg jerks up from the pool, the jab of her knee in his ribs drawing all the air from his lungs just as she hooks an arm around his shoulder, pushes.

He barely has time to realize what's happening; he feels his weight shift and then he's falling, crying out but powerless to stop it. He's even momentarily scared (no, really just _startled,_ he's not scared) but there's no way he'll let his daughter know that.

He hits the cool water and then reflexes take over, his foot hitting the bottom to make him surface; he coughs water out for a few more seconds than he'd like.

Alexis is watching him, smirking. He didn't even manage to take her down with him.

He's growing old.

"You got me," he admits, smiling. He shakes his hair, trying to get the water out of his ears, then bounces on his toes a few times, hopping, but gives up when it doesn't work. "So," he says, figuring he might as well take the chance he's offered. "Is that my punishment for leaving you alone this morning?"

His daughter rolls her eyes at him. "Dad."

Ah, but the thing is - he maybe means it? A little?

His silence clues her in and Alexis shakes her head at him this time, that affectionate look in her eyes that always eases his heart. She takes off the hat, pushes her book farther from the edge, and slides into the pool, water gently lapping around her body.

She joins him with a stroke, wraps herself around him the way she did when she was little, curled at his back, legs around his waist and head on his shoulder. His baby koala.

"Dad. Please tell me you don't feel guilty for sleeping in."

"It's your last day," he objects before he can help himself. "It should be special."

"I didn't even want to _come_ to Belize in the first place! But you made me, and we had this amazing vacation, and I can't even be mad at you anymore, so really, you should be pretty happy with yourself right now. All I'm sayin'."

He mulls that over, comforted by the honesty in her voice, pleased that she has managed to enjoy herself despite the circumstances.

He feels the press of her cheek against his, her arms tightening around his chest, and she murmurs with a smile, "Dad. News flash. It's always special, no matter what."


	61. 63: Saturday

**63**

* * *

Despite his reassurances, Kate can tell that Alexis's leaving has cast a shadow over Castle's spirits. Maybe he just misses his daughter, maybe he's worried about her - knowing him, it's probably a combination of both - but he's been distracted all afternoon, didn't even flinch when their taxi almost crashed into another car on the way back.

They've hung around the house, gone to the pool, napped, and still he's a little forlorn, still he takes a few more seconds than he normally would to respond to any of her nudges.

She needs a plan.

Kate borrows his laptop under the pretense of checking her email, explores their options with her bottom lip curled between her teeth, her toes tracing patterns on his thigh. Castle is sitting at the other end of the couch, pretending to read; the book must not be that fascinating, because the last time he turned a page was a good fifteen minutes ago.

She finally makes her choice, glances at the time - almost six. A perfectly reasonable time to go to dinner, she thinks, and then-

She closes the laptop and gets up, stretching before she looks back at him. His eyes are on her bare legs, yes, but they lack the usual mischief, the spark in them.

She presses her lips together, considers, decides to leave him alone for now.

Kate heads for their bedroom, vaguely disappointed when he doesn't follow, goes for the closet anyway. She unpacked on the first day, as soon as they got here (well, as soon as he let her out of their bed, anyway), and she finds a strange satisfaction in seeing their clothes lying side by side on the wooden shelves. Even though half of Castle's stuff is still wrinkled in his suitcase.

Kate picks one of the dresses she hung up, a short, blue, shimmering thing that she may or may not have bought on purpose for this trip. She runs a hand over the silky fabric, presses the dress to her body, and smirks.

Perfect.

She showers, takes her time, washes her hair with the cherry shampoo that she still uses sometimes (but it's not for him, of course not). Then she does her makeup, stretched on tiptoe over the sink, almost surprised at the way she looks with mascara, eyeshadow, and eyeliner on.

She's only worn light make-up all the time they've been here, because they're always going into the water anyway, and it's summer, and Castle doesn't seem to care; so the Kate reflected in the mirror, with those smoky eyes that look even better against the gold of her tanned skin - she looks different, exotic. A stranger.

A sexy stranger, she'll give herself that.

Kate grins and puts the pencil back into her small case, steps into their bedroom again, thinking about shoes.

Heels. She needs heels tonight.

She kneels down and slides her suitcase out from under the bed, unzips it. She only brought one pair of heels with her, black and really, really high; just slipping her bare feet into them makes her feel powerful.

A bit funny, too, after a week of flats.

Hm. Castle's gonna love them.

She checks her reflection, musses up her still-damp hair because he told her once that he loves it when she looks a little wild. _Dangerous. _Dangerous is the word he used.

Okay. She's ready.

"Castle?" she calls, stepping back slowly before she turns to make her way into the living-room. He issues a non-committal sound that is apparently the only answer she's going to get.

"Let's go out tonight," she tells him just as he comes into sight, sagged into the couch, not even trying to read anymore. Suddenly the nickname _White Whale_ takes a whole new meaning.

Not really that white anymore, granted.

He looks up but she can tell he's not paying attention, her outfit not registering. "I don't know, Kate," he says, flat and unconvinced. "I'd rather stay here, I think."

She takes a slow breath through her nose. "Castle."

He must hear the tinge of annoyance in her voice, because his eyes snap back to her, and this time he sees. He sees her.

He sits up in the couch, staring, mouth open. That's more like it.

"_I'm_ going out tonight," she declares, emphasizing each word. She takes a leisurely, deliberate step, watches his eyes fixate on her legs, the provoking heels. "You're welcome to come with me, or stay here, Castle. Your choice."

He stumbles to his feet, his gaze never leaving her. "Coming," he says, somewhat breathlessly. "I'm coming."

She's so pleased she doesn't even care about the double entendre.

* * *

The Barefoot Iguana.

The name of the nightclub still makes Castle laugh, but he has to admit the place in itself is really cool. It's built like a cavern, but decorated like a forest, and the foliage that runs along the wall has almost taken over the small table Kate is sitting at.

He hands her one of the cocktails he just got at the bar, some exotic drink that the bartender, a nice guy called Wayo, mixed for them (_secret recipe_, he told Castle with a broad smile that made the writer slightly nervous) and sits down across from Kate.

She's truly gorgeous tonight, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, the make-up making her look a little more like Beckett - like the bad-ass detective who dances her way into nightclubs to arrest drug dealers, drives his Ferrari like there's no tomorrow.

He loves that, loves her, and if he's honest half the fun of seeing her like this is because he knows - is even _intimate _with - the other, softer side to her, the Kate who falls asleep curled into his chest, her face bare, her heart open to him (mostly open, getting there open).

She's extraordinary.

He lifts his glass and clinks it against hers, drinks in her smile, the way she moves her head in time with the music.

"I want to dance," she leans in to tell him, giving him a lovely view down her dress as she rests her weight on her elbows. He presses his lips to hers, quick and dirty, can feel the taste of the cocktail on her tongue.

Mmm, nice. Wayo obviously knows what he's doing.

"Let's dance, then," he tells her with a quirk of his eyebrows, and he knocks back the rest of the cocktail, can only tell the alcohol is there from the soft buzz in his blood. A smile dances on Kate's face, the lights from the dance floor painting her red, blue, green; there's not a single color that can make her less beautiful.

She takes a sip of the cocktail and sets it back on the table, gets to her feet while reaching for his hand. Their fingers tangle; he brushes his lips to the corner of her mouth, doesn't have to bend at all.

Sexy, sexy heels.

She leads him onto the dance floor, her hips swaying, so graceful, so elegant in everything she does. He could spend his whole life watching her.

Kate twirls back and circles an arm around his neck, her mouth flirting with his jaw, her body so close in that blue, shimmering dress that he just wants to take off of her. Has been wanting to take off of her for a while now. But then she undulates against him, a siren, irresistible, and he finds himself following, lets the music take over, guide his feet.

He's dancing in a Belizean nightclub, spinning Kate Beckett around, and as his heart pounds with the drums he realizes that this is exactly what he needed, the perfect way to keep Alexis's return to New York out of his mind.

He looks at Kate, and she looks back at him, breathless and enjoying herself, that glint of knowledge shimmering at the back of her eyes; he doesn't even care that there are people around, that there might even be paparazzi (following him in Belize, right, sure Castle). He just grabs her, pulls her against his chest, and he kisses her, invests the haven of her mouth with his gratitude.

Because she always knows what he needs.


	62. 64: Sunday

**64**

* * *

Castle and Beckett startle awake simultaneously at the strident call of the alarm clock, their bodies jerking, tangling together even as Castle rolls over her and slaps it off with a grunt.

She grunts at him and shoves on his shoulder; he flops onto his back, his heart pounding in reponse to the rude awakening, eyes closed as he breathes.

"Why the alarm?" she growls.

"Forgot from yesterday."

When they took Alexis to the airport. He sighs and feels Kate's hand across his chest, the press of her fingertips at his collarbone. That's nice. His heart is starting to slow now, his breathing easier.

"It's early," she murmurs, and he feels her forehead against his shoulder, the huff of her breath at his skin. Castle seeks out her hand and twines their fingers together, and she lets him.

This is nice. He likes this. Eyes closed, both of them breathing, drifting back to sleep after a night like last night. . .

He grins and opens his eyes, the white ceiling above him, the blades of the fan whirring softly, and he tilts his head down to look at Kate. Sexy, hot Kate who had her delicious way with him last night.

Her hair covers her face; he reaches over and strokes it back, laughs suddenly at her look.

"What?" she murmurs, opening her eyes.

He laughs harder, sucking in a gulping breath, lifts up on one elbow and holds her hair back from her face. "You didn't. . .take your make-up off last night."

She groans and closes her eyes, untangles her fingers from his to rub at her cheeks. Only makes it worse. "How bad is it?"

"Raccoon, totally. Or eyeblack that baseball players wear-"

She shoves on his shoulder and moves to get out of bed. He captures her wrist, laughing, and tries to make it better.

"No, no. Don't leave. It's adorable-"

"It's not adorable," she growls. "It's your fault I didn't get a chance to wash my face anyway-"

"My fault?"

"Hustling me into bed as fast-"

"Oh no, not-uh," he laughs back. "You were the one doing the hustling. That dress."

She says nothing to that, tugging instead on his grip. Castle doesn't let her go, twisting instead to look at her face again. Dark smudges of mascara and eyeliner have smeared above her cheeks; she looks not so much smoky as smoked. He laughs again and she jerks her hand out of his grip, slides her legs out of bed.

When she stands, she's wearing black lace panties - scraps of material, really, curving delicately at her ass, thinning at her hips, skin winking at him in delight.

"Wait. Whoa, wait."

He jumps out of bed after her, stumbling, smacking his toe into the side of the bathroom door as he catches her around the waist at the threshold, his fingers glancing off that wonderful, magic lace.

"Where did this come from?" he gasps, bending down and pressing his lips to the small of her back, drifting down to the black line-

She elbows him off with a huff. "Castle."

"Where - why - how did these-"

She turns and pushes him back with a finger to his chest, narrowing her eyes at him. She's in that skimpy white strappy tank top shirt too. Killing him. She's killing him.

"I put them back on-"

"No!" He stumbles as she pushes him again. "_Back on_? When were they - they were on before and I missed it?"

She smirks at him, lifting up on her toes. "You did. Last night. Kinda surprised me when you didn't comment, but I totally forgot about it the moment your mouth replaced-"

"Oh shit." He grunts and steps back, a flash of heat searing him at her words. They haven't exactly - she hasn't really been dirty like that in just everyday conversation, and it has totally knocked him off his game. That and the black lace underwear. His brain might explode.

She grins and tilts her head, and suddenly all he can see are those raccoon circles under her eyes and he grins back, stunned at how she can switch from make-up crazy to crazy hot and back again.

He nudges her back into the bathroom with a hand at her hip, fingers sliding under the lace - totally on accident, really - and leans forward to drop a kiss at her smiling mouth.

"Wash your face, Kate. I can't have a serious conversation about your underwear with raccoon eyes staring back at me."

She smacks him in the shoulder for that, shuts the bathroom door on his face.

He still can't get the tantilizing image of black lace from his brain.

What other underwear did she bring that he hasn't seen?


	63. 65: Monday

**65**

* * *

She's on the computer when Alexis messages; Kate pushes off the couch and carries the laptop against her chest as she searches for Castle.

Not in the bedroom, the bathroom, not in Alexis's empty room, not-

The message goes off again and Kate glances down, bites her lip. She types one-handed, _It's Kate; let me find your dad._

She slides open the glass door, steps outside onto the deck. "Castle?"

"Down here," comes his voice from the pool.

"Alexis messaged you."

"Ooh, hold on. I'm coming."

Kate hangs out there a moment, waiting on him with the laptop in her arms. When Castle gets to the top of the stairs, he's dripping wet, wiping a hand over his eyes. Her breath catches, entirely without warning, and she stares a moment, the water sliding over his shoulders and pooling arousal in her belly.

Again. Jeez.

"Let me dry off a little," he says, holding his hands up to ward her off as she fumbles the computer towards him, completely graceless, which is so not like her.

Castle rubs a towel over his head and she sucks in a breath, gets it together. When his head reappears, Castle dropping the towel over the wooden railing, he grabs the laptop from her and she stays rooted to the spot, trying to keep her hands to herself.

She really should. Right? She should keep her hands to herself.

He lays the laptop on the outdoor table so he can type, his back to her, his trunks clinging to his legs. She finds herself stepping closer, stops before she can touch him, puts a hand to her mouth to swallow it down.

Kate turns around and heads back through the sliding glass doors, cheeks flaming.

* * *

When Castle turns around, Kate is gone. He closes the laptop, hesitates on the deck, his bare feet burning on the wood. He shifts his weight to avoid the rough patches and scoops the computer up off the table.

Kate's not in the living room, so he deposits the laptop on the couch and heads for the bedroom.

She's there, lying on the bed with her chin on his pillow, reading a book, feet kicked up behind her.

"Computer's free if you want it," he says, smiling at her.

She avoids his eyes. "Thanks. I'm good."

"Want to swim?"

"Ah, no."

He feels something there, tension or aversion, something he doesn't like. "You want to do something else?"

She closes her book and he can see her bite her lip, draw a knee up to get her legs under her. She sits up and glances at him, and he can't read her face at all.

"Kate?"

She tosses the book off the bed and it hits the floor with a flop; he has no idea what's going or what that look is for and it's beginning to scare him. He thought everything was okay, more than okay, and she-

Kate stands up and comes to him, her fingertips brushing his sides, making him jump, and she lifts her mouth to his, her tongue painting his lips.

He breathes her in, swaying in relief, and his arms come around her. "What do you want to do? Anything, Kate. I'll do any-"

She kisses him again, a little rougher, her body coming up against his, her hands trailing at his sides, fingers dipping into his waistband. It makes his hips cant towards her and she hums, and then it hits him. What she wants to do.

He laughs into her mouth, snakes a hand up to curl in her hair. "We just did this," he murmurs, grinning against her cheek, brushing his lips down her jaw.

"You complaining, Castle?"

He laughs again and shakes his head. "Not at all. Anytime. You coulda-"

"Didn't want to interrupt you with Alexis-"

He pushes her back; she gets a knee up on the bed and smirks at him, fingers curling at at his shoulder blades. He watches her, wonders what that moment was - shyness or frustration or a sense of reservation he doesn't get (surely she wasn't ashamed of it, not Kate) - but she keeps grinning at him and tugs him down with her.

And then that moment of hesitation is gone and all that remains is this - the way she feels when she moves against him, her hands clever, her mouth at his.

* * *

Kate strokes away from him in the water, bobbing a little as a wave pushes her even farther. She laughs when he gets an arm around her waist, drags her back to him. He growls at her, biting at her shoulder; she curls towards him, pushing on his head with her palm but still laughing.

How is it that he can be both so annoying and so - damn - breath-taking at the same time? "Get off me, Castle-"

He gets his hands under her and hefts her up; she clutches at him, gasping, but he tosses her away. She sinks under the water with a splash and swims to the surface again, glaring at him.

He laughs at her. He looks sexy as hell and she has no idea why it's hit her like this, why she just wants to wrap herself around him-

"Uh-oh," he says, eyes growing comically wide. "I'm in for it."

She smirks at him to hide her flush of arousal, swims purposefully towards him, putting on an air like she knows exactly what her plan is - but she has no idea. She just knows she loves the way he plays, loves how he includes her in it, loves how he's come into her life and touched everything, messed with every carefully arranged piece, thrown her completely off kilter.

She loves it. She hates it, and she loves it, and she can't believe how much she wants it. Him. All of it.

How the hell did this happen to her?

Kate's feet hit a sand bar and she grins, pretends she's still treading water only a few inches from him. Castle is eyeing her, not moving away yet, but definitely wary. She steadies herself on the sand bar and then launches herself at him.

Her palms hit his shoulders and she bears down, forcing him under as he startles on a gasp. She draws her knees up as the momentum takes them down, pushes off of his chest with her feet just to shove him down a little more.

When she comes up for air, she's grinning, triumphant, thinking that will show him who's in charge here, but Castle isn't in front of her.

Her stomach drops and she moves to spin around, but she's too late.

Castle splashes out of the water behind her, grabs her waist and hauls her back down with him. She barely takes a breath before going under, feels his mouth coming over hers, opens her eyes in surprise to see him grin and then shove her off, heading for the surface again.

Kate swims up after him and then does what she's wanted to do all afternoon ever since they got in the water.

She wraps her legs around his waist, her arms at his neck and shoulders and squeezes, riding his back as she presses her mouth to his neck and sucks the salt from his skin.

He shivers hard, a hand coming up to wrap his fingers around her forearm, the other tangling in her hair.

Yeah, she doesn't care anymore. So what if she wants him all the time? So what if it's Rick Castle who annoys the crap out of her and fights with her about what kind of coffee they're drinking this morning and is always trying to invest some kind of meaning to every single moment even when it's just two people waking up in the same bed? So what?

She loves him. The idiot. The infuriating, beautiful, self-absorbed, tender man that he is. She loves him.

"Kate. Can we go back inside?" he whines into her mouth. "I want to do stuff to you that the fish shouldn't see."

She laughs and nibbles at his ear. "Only if you can carry me."


	64. 66: Tuesday

**66**

* * *

"You are seriously driving me crazy."

Whoops. He's gone too far.

She shoves him away, escapes his grasp, and heads for the deck stairs, rushing to get down, away from him.

He sighs.

Yeah, he kinda saw that coming. But she was all over him yesterday, and friendly this morning, but they just had dinner and they came out here to watch the sunset because he thought it would be romantic but-

He should play hard to get, because Kate looked ready to murder him.

He tries to remember what he said. Something stupid. Something about her feet, and something stupid, and then something with a leer to it, and yeah, he went too far.

Castle sighs to himself and sinks down on the deck chair, rubs at his eyes. He'll let her cool off in the pool, the ocean, whatever, and then he'll-

What? Keep bothering her? Hang all over her? Pester her again?

Yeah, okay, change of venue is in order.

Castle gets back up and goes inside, surveys the place. The cleaning service comes in the morning if they're out of the villa, so - of course - that means the place hasn't been cleaned in three days.

He grins and moves to put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher, clean up the countertop, wipe down the coffee maker. He wanted to go out for coffee this morning and she argued with him about wasting the money, and then he wanted to head into town for lunch and she didn't feel like walking, and then he suggested drinks and a restaurant for dinner and she told him he needed to back off-

He's getting on her nerves. And funny enough, it doesn't bother him. People get on each other's nerves - it has to happen at some point. He likes her irritated, actually, and so yeah, he's probably been poking a bear with her. He'll stop.

He'll figure out a way to let her have some space.

To be honest, she's annoying him too. Which is probably why he's been messing with her - retaliation or something. She shoots down his best ideas and doesn't want to go out, and he thinks she's tallying up the expenses in her head, keeping track of it, as if she's going to try and repay him. And that ticks him off.

Like he cares. Like he doesn't have the money? Like-

Yeah, okay, some space is a good idea right about now.

Castle wipes down the counter one last time and heads for the back bedroom, searching for something to do. He finds her manuscripts in a pile on her side of the bed, her make-up arranged in neat rows on the dresser next to the full-length mirror, her dress from the other night hanging up over the closet door.

Her flipflops are kicked off in the bathroom even though he hates the thought of outside dirt on the tile floor, and her stuff is in the shower crowding out his on every shelf.

He turns slowly in the room, finds himself irritated by every little touch, every domineering piece of Beckett that-

"Castle!"

He jerks out of his building cloud at the sound of his name, heads towards the living room only to crash into her in the doorway. She huffs and draws a hand in a fist, holding him off with her other hand as if she's protecting something.

"What do you want?" he growls back and winces when her eyes raise to his with a flash of that earlier frustration.

But she shakes her head and opens her hand. "Look what I found on the beach."

He glances down and it all melts away, everything. "Oh my God. It's a baby sea turtle."

She lifts her head and meets his eyes again, a flare of shared awe. "I practically stepped on him."

"They hatch when it's dark-" he says, bewildered by the tiny flippers, the hard, rounded shell.

"The sun's already set," she says. "So I guess he just started early."

"Wait, sea turtles are endangered. You gotta get it back-"

"I know," she says, rolling her eyes at him. "I wanted you to see it first. Come with me back to the beach."

"Yeah," he murmurs, nudging her at the hip even as she turns and heads back through the living room to the sliding glass doors.

He follows her out onto the deck and sees the sky has already dipped into blue twilight, the moon just beginning to show at the horizon. Down the stairs to the beach, he watches Kate's bronzed shoulders, the play of light on her hair as she holds one hand cupped at her chest, the baby turtle cradled carefully.

With the rapidly cooling sand under his toes, Castle takes a few strides forward until he's at her side, reaches down for her free hand to curl his fingers around hers. She lets him, even nudges his thigh with their joined hands, her eyes flicking to his and skipping out over the ocean as they walk.

"Will you recognize the spot when you. . ."

Wow.

"I think so," she laughs, sounding breathless.

A host of baby turtles are streaming down the beach right in front of them, dark and round bodies coming up out of the sand and waddling down the shore, heading for the water.

She kneels down and releases the little turtle, aiming him towards the ocean, and for a moment, the tiny thing stutters, flippers churning sand but going nowhere.

Castle shifts on his feet, wonders if maybe they should creep a little closer and let the thing see his brothers and sisters. "Maybe we should-"

"Give him a chance, Castle," she says quietly, conviction in her voice.

And then the turtle gets going and makes his way, moving over the sand at a steady, dogged pace.

"They're so fast," Kate murmurs, still on her haunches next to him. He squats down beside her, watching the brown shells scattering across the beach.

"And yet, it's taking them forever," he says back, sinking down to sit in the sand. "They're so small and it's such a long way to go."

She sits next to him, her hand on his thigh, and he glances at her in the waning light, the way she's biting her bottom lip, rooting for the baby turtles.

"They go a foot and then they have to rest," she murmurs. "Look at that one-"

Castle laughs. "He's gotten totally turned around."

Kate turns her head and then frowns. "The lights behind us, from our room. It's confusing them."

"Why would they head to the light?"

"The moonlight on the water," she says. "They head for the moonlight."

"Oh. Want me to run back upstairs and turn all the lights off?" he says, getting back to his feet.

"Would you?"

"Of course," he answers, but he's already heading for the stairs leading up to their deck, missing the warmth of her hand on his leg.

* * *

Kate sits in the grey-blue light on the beach, runs her fingers through the sand as it gives off the last heat of the day. She watches the turtles wobble over the shore, pause to rest, give another effort forward, determined.

She can tell when Castle turns off all the lights because the beach is suddenly hazier, the shapes less distinct. She blinks her eyes and can still see the darker shadows of the sea turtles as they crawl towards the ocean, stopping only to take a short break, redirect their course, keeping going again.

A few start making it to the waterline, disappear under a wave that breaks. She holds her breath, but they're supposed to do that, they're marine creatures. They swim, they go find their families.

She hears Castle on the stairs and for once he's quiet as he approaches, sinks down to sit beside her again. His shoulder comes to her back and she leans against his arm, letting him brace her as they watch the indistinct shoreline and the little creatures moving over it.

She breathes out again, her eyes still on the baby she carried up and showed him, watching his progress to be certain he's making it.

"Which one's ours?" he murmurs in her ear, his breath skirting her neck.

She bites her lip and points towards a cluster of them. "Right there, trying to make it past that piece of driftwood."

"Oh, with all the others?"

"He's the one on the far left."

"Oh good. He made some friends."

She grins at that, glances back quickly to Castle. He's smiling too, his face softer than it was a few hours ago.

She's been prickly and closed off today; she knows that. She doesn't know why, but she took it out on him all day and then he got pushy and crowding and-

Yeah.

Kate shifts to nudge his side, lifts her mouth to place a gentle kiss at his jaw before she drops her cheek to his shoulder. He doesn't say anything more, just lowers his chin to the top of her head, lets them both have this moment to simply watch the baby turtles crawling towards the sea.

Heading home, all of them. Just trying to get back home.


	65. 67: Wednesday

**67**

* * *

Kate's reading on her phone in the semi-dark of the back deck when Castle slides the screen door aside and steps through. Her heart sinks.

"Hey," he murmurs, his face hesitant.

"Hey," she says back, turning to him, reluctance vibrating so strongly in her body that it takes work to keep it from her face, her voice.

"I - uh - I'm kinda exhausted," he laughs, shrugging his shoulders as if to apologize. He walks slowly to her side, his body leaning towards her but not touching. Waiting for permission.

She slides a hand down his forearm, curls her fingers around his, giving him a little shake. "You should go to bed."

He sighs. "I think I will, actually. You gonna read?"

Is he asking her to come to bed with him? He is. She can tell by his face, even in the darkness, even with just the blue light from her iphone lighting his features. He wants to snuggle up with her and that is absolutely the last thing she wants to do right now.

"I'm gonna read, yeah," she says softly, trying to keep all judgment out of it. Trying to keep from hurting his feelings.

"Yeah, okay," he says, standing there a moment. He rouses as if from a daydream, heads back for the door.

"Castle," she stops him, sighing a little.

"Yeah," he waits, standing half inside the living room, a foot still on the wooden deck, his body turned away from her but she thinks she can see his eyes seeking hers.

"Night," she offers, wondering if there should be more. But there's not.

"Yeah. Night," he says back, and disappears inside.

* * *

She knows that he falls asleep quickly, so she reads only to the end of the chapter, then blanks her screen, closes her eyes in the quiet night. She lets out a long breath, drops her feet from the other chair to the deck, her head tilting back.

She craves this, has been craving it all day. Like a fix. She needs this. The nothing, the darkness, the silence, the alone.

She loves him, she does, but she loves him more maybe when she doesn't have to be with him twenty-four hours a day for the last three weeks. She loves him, but she doesn't love how he has to fill up every moment with idle conversation. She loves him, but she just wants to turn on the radio and _listen_.

She loves him.

So she kept her mouth shut and suffered through, and she's going to murder him if she has to do it for much longer without a break.

Not a break from them, but maybe just a break from incessant _him._

She loves him. She does. She really does.

Before she can think _but_ again, Kate gets to her feet swiftly, eyes open to the late-night darkness, and then, using her phone for light, she heads down the stairs to the beach.

The pool is to the right and she hesitates for just a moment, thinking how lovely, how free and ridiculous and exhilarating it would be to strip off her clothes and dive in. But actually, that's something she kinda _would_ like his company for actually, so she saves it and heads for the beach instead.

The sand is that grey-blue found in the deep of night, strangely luminous under the stars. Kate kicks off her sandals and lets her feet dig into the cool grains, her toes making aimless patterns. She tucks her phone into her pocket, no longer needing it to see, and walks down the beach, away.

Away.

Her body unwinds with every step, her brain settling down, her nerves soothed by the roar of the ocean. It's loud, but it's even-toned and rhythmic; it has a music to it that ceases to hold meaning the longer she hears it.

Nearly three weeks of it now, and the ocean is like breathing, in and out. Her body, even when not in the water, rises and falls with the waves, attuned.

She walks to the wet edge of the sand, pauses there for a moment before the oncoming wave. She feels the water swirl at her feet, curl around her ankles, the strange nibble of inquisitive little fish, the fingers of seaweed at her skin. Ethereal in the darkness, with her eyes mostly blind to whatever the water holds.

Kate takes a long breath in and releases it, lets it go to the water, the salty air, the humid touch of the night. She lets it all get hung up on the stars, closes her eyes.

Castle gave her this too. The night, the blessing of the ocean in the darkness. Even as she needs this moment to be lost in the modulation of the sea, alone in the cadence of the water's voice, she also can appreciate how she got here.

The aloneness, the solitude is only sweet because of him, because she has him to go back to when she's been filled up with the peace of the lonely night.

Still. Doesn't mean she wants to go back right now.

Kate opens her eyes and keeps walking.

* * *

It's been a couple hours when she makes it back to the deck, and her feet have been rubbed soft by fine sand. She brushes it off as best she can, leaving her wet sandals outside, and then steps into the living room.

He's plugged the nightlight from the extra bathroom into the outlet here. He's left her a trail of light that extends nearly to the open bedroom door.

Kate sighs, closing her eyes to reclaim that feeling of night, and solitude, breathes out again. She slips the shirt over her head as she moves for their room, stepping out of her shorts as she goes.

She pads softly past the bed and into the master bathroom, leaves her clothes in the floor as she turns the faucet on low, letting water trickle out. She gets a washcloth damp, washes her face quietly, brushes her teeth. She goes to the bathroom, washes her hands, takes her earrings out, remembers to put them well back from the sink or else he'll get them wet again.

Kate slips out of her underwear and bra, pulls one of his tshirts from the pile, sniffs it. Pretty clean. He keeps dumping his stuff in the floor after the resort people do laundry. Drives her nuts, but-

No, no more tonight.

No more, Kate.

She heads back out to the bedroom and is struck suddenly by the way he looks in the bed, this dark, solid form with such presence to it, such substance. He's managed to command her attention, arrest her, even in sleep, even with his face slack and rugged with shadows.

She sighs, shakes her head at herself and climbs into bed with him.

Castle doesn't wake at all, doesn't move. He's on his side, back to her, and she closes her eyes, getting comfortable under the sheet. The night is alive outside their open window, the slight breeze touching her skin.

But it's not quite right.

Kate opens her eyes, turns her head to look at the broad expanse of his shoulders. It's that. The part that isn't settled, doesn't want to rest.

She curls on her side at his back, reaches out with a hand at his shoulder blade. Her body eases at the warmth of him and she traces a slow line up to his neck, fingers in the soft hair there before journeying back down his spine.

Kate leans in and presses a good-night to his skin, closes her eyes.

Sleep finds her with her kiss still at his shoulder.


	66. 68: Thursday

**68**

* * *

He's asleep and then, without warning, he's awake, like he was hovering on that border, drifting back and forth over the line until something pulled him firmly into the land of awareness.

Castle opens his eyes, blinks slowly to resolve the image before him.

"Kate?"

She stops whatever she was doing at his bedside table, looking at him for a second before she reaches out and runs her fingers gently through his hair. "Go back to sleep, Rick."

"Huh," he murmurs, his eyes slipping closed. "What're you doing?"

"Leaving you a note. Going for a run."

He sighs at the feel of her fingers smoothing through his scalp, her thumb at his ear and circling. Feels good. She feels good. "Time's it?"

"Seven."

He grunts at that, a fleeting wish that she'd - for once - figure out how to sleep in or at least not wake him up every morning of his vacation. Vacation, Kate._ It's vacation._

"Go back to sleep," she says.

"Tryin'," he sighs. "Can't keep doing that."

She huffs at him, withdraws her fingers. Not what he meant, the fingers in his hair were nice-

He opens his eyes but she's already walking out the door. Probably for the best. He's worn out; she woke him sometime last night with her cold fingers against his back, her cold toes at his calves-

Castle sighs to himself and rolls over, groans at the light pouring in through the windows, spilling over the bed, prying open his eyelids.

Damn it, Kate.

* * *

He wakes again when she turns on the shower.

He curses to himself and burrows back down in the pillow, tries to block out the lure of Kate naked under the water, because it's not gonna happen. He is seriously exhausted and as much as he likes watching her, what he's really craving is uninterrupted sleep.

After he closed the wooden blinds and crawled back into bed, he dropped off immediately. Castle cracks an eye open and glances at the alarm clock, sighs. Almost nine. Probably should get up. She'll expect him to get up.

Wait. She ran for two hours?

Damn, this is annoying. She's so closed off sometimes, and hard to reach when she gets like that, hard to pull back out. She doesn't _want_ to be pulled back out; she wants to be alone. And he. . .doesn't.

Castle opens his eyes and lies there for a moment more, listening to the shower, wondering if maybe his daughter was right all along. Three weeks of vacation is too much, too long. He and Kate should've gone back with his daughter-

But her place was broken into; Kate's place was broken into and stuff was taken and that scares the shit out of him still.

And that's why they're here in Belize and not at home.

So what if it's nine in the morning? He ought to stop pouting like a child because he's in Belize with Kate Beckett - prickly or reserved or quiet, does it matter?

Get over it, Rick. Happens.

Six months ago, when he was certain she couldn't love him back, when he felt pretty sure that she was just humoring him, or stringing him along, or whatever, back then he thought this would never be possible. Six months ago, he remembers quite clearly feeling like if she could just _love him back_, he'd never ask for anything else ever again.

Castle gets out of bed and stretches, yawning past his reluctance to move, scoops a tshirt off the floor. He pulls it on over his head and moves into the living room, rubbing at his eyes.

Six months ago, all he wanted was this. This right here, what he _has_, and he's not going to screw it up just because they're getting on each other's nerves. He'll just have to do better.

Castle stops in the kitchen, remembers how she balked at going out for coffee yesterday and the day before. He starts up the coffee maker - this one doesn't have a timer, so he's seen her not quite so patiently waiting for it to brew. He puts in a filter, measures the grounds, adds a little bit of sugar and a hint of vanilla (he will never tell her he does that, because she's always so delighted by the way he makes coffee).

He pours water into the back, sets the coffee pot on the burner. He listens and can still hear the shower, so he scrapes a hand through his hair, scratching, and heads back for the bedroom.

Maybe she'll let him share the last of it. Never know.

* * *

Kate slips past him as he steps into the wide shower, standing still only long enough for his good morning kiss. She opens the shower door and the steam billows out, disperses, and the rich scent of every perfect good morning hits her.

"I smell coffee?" she murmurs, looking back at him.

He grins as he switches off with her. "Yeah, got up and started it."

She remembers, suddenly, their fight in her apartment and how he admitted that he brings her coffee to see her smile. Kate reaches for her towel with her heart sinking at her own selfishness.

He made her coffee; she's not sure she's smiled at him once this morning.

Kate pauses, one hand on the shower door, regarding him for a moment. Castle ducks his head under the water, closing his eyes. She comes back for him, reaching out for his waist. He startles when she touches his sides, glances over at her with water streaming down his face.

"Thank you," she says softly, her body close to his, smiling at him gently.

"Yeah," he says, shrugging at her, turning back and reaching for his shampoo. Like it's nothing. She wraps her arms around him and he lets out a startled breath. "Whoa. Kate."

"I love your coffee," she says, laughing a little, her mouth at his shoulder, tasting the water on his skin, hoping he can feel her smile. He deserves it, the smiles, at the very least.

"Uh, yeah. I can tell." He clasps his hand over hers at his chest, twists his head to look at her draped all along his back. Slick and wet, her skin heating his. Her chin digs into his shoulder as she watches him, confident that this is right; she owes him this.

"Castle," she says, her lips quirking.

"Oh," he says with a laugh. "This is an invitation?"

"You made me coffee."

"Ah, so this is payment. Got it."

She smirks again, but she doesn't want him feeling like that. "Wasn't thinking payment," she says, tilting her head to get at his ear, up on her tiptoes and straining against him. He feels good, her body feels good stretched out over him. "You want it to be?" she asks, and her voice is throatier than she wanted it.

"No," he says on a gasp, twisting around to press himself against her. "Save my payment for later. Lay-away. Something. This can just be-"

"Fun," she whispers.

He kisses her before she can say anything else.

* * *

Kate sits with her knee up, the sun in her eyes as she sips her coffee and looks at Castle over the rim of the mug. He watches her for a moment, then drinks his own cup, looks away from her.

The staring and touching - he must know she's fed up with that. He's pushed it to the limit these past few weeks, and she wishes he'd get that under control again. Still, watching him now, his body sprawled out on the chair next to hers, sun-warmed with his hair in his eyes from her hands, he looks good. And she can kinda see the attraction in all that staring.

When Castle cuts his eyes back to her really quickly, she shakes her head on a smirk and shifts her gaze to the water in front of them, her body relaxed again.

He doesn't reach for her, doesn't say anything, just lets the moment go on like it is.

Good. That's better.

He can learn. She can learn too. Right? They'll probably have a lot more days like yesterday, but they just have to find a balance. She needs to not be on vacation with him for three weeks, first of all, and when they're back in New York, when she can go home, then it will be better. It'll work out. Smooth out all the bumps.

She doesn't want to have to. . .talk to him about it. If she says, _Castle, stop _she's pretty sure he wouldn't understand; she'd hurt his feelings. And she doesn't want to do that. She doesn't want another scene like their fight in her apartment, where he bares his soul to her, and she flinches.

He wants to make her smile; that's all, right? She can do that. She can.

Kate reaches over and lays her hand over his, fingers sliding between his; he stretches his fingers to let her, draws her hand up to his mouth and kisses the back of her hand.

He's not looking at her, even now, but she sees the smirk of his lips and it's enough.


	67. 69: Friday

**69**

* * *

When Castle wakes, the sunlight is tangling through the blinds, trying to push its way in. It must be around nine; he's noticed over the past few weeks that when he emerges from sleep any time after ten, the sun's already gone past the window.

He rolls onto his back, presses his dry lips together, trying to gather some moisture in his mouth. He reaches out for the glass of water that he keeps on the nightstand, but he forgot to fill it last night.

Damn. He was too busy exulting because Kate went to bed with him, curled close under the sheets, and that's his punishment.

He grunts, half amused at himself, half annoyed because he really is thirsty, and now his mind is switched on and there's just no going back to sleep once that happens.

He rubs his eyes and yawns, finally turns his head to the other side of the bed. Kate is lying on her side, oriented towards him, and she's done that adorable thing where she huddles under the sheets and covers, even though their bedroom isn't exactly cold; he can only see a shock of dark hair, the golden expanse of her forehead, the dark sweep of a closed eye.

He watches her for a moment, pensive, that fierce, strong, beautiful woman he's so deeply in love with, even though she's just as maddening and challenging now as she was on the first day of their partnership.

It's his own fault he went to bed sulking and disappointed the night before, when he left her to read on the back deck; rationally, he knows that.

But he was frustrated with her, with her removed and alone self, and yeah, he was trying to punish her by going to sleep early.

Punished himself instead, really.

His problem is, he doesn't know where to stop. He's never had someone like Kate, someone who fascinates him, someone he wants to understand so completely, know everything about. Getting on Gina's or Meredith's nerves never really bothered him, because neither of them had such a pull on him - when they sent him away, he was actually glad for the time off.

It's not like that with Kate.

He doesn't - he doesn't really want time away from her. Doesn't feel like he needs it, at any rate. Which is wrong, of course it is, because there must be a part of him somewhere longing for some time on his own, and he's just - what? Too childish, too stubborn to acknowledge it?

When he gets on Kate's nerves, it hurts him.

He's ridiculous.

Rick takes a deep breath, soothed all over again by the quietness of their room, the faraway lull of the ocean, the smell of Kate asleep in their bed.

Oh.

He needs to write.

His eyes fly open with the realization, so clear and sharp, almost a throb in his chest. How long has it been since the last time he sat in front of his laptop, made himself scarce, devoting his mind to Nikki and Rook instead?

Too long. Castle slides out of bed, carefully shifting his weight so it won't wake Beckett, grabs the first t-shirt he can find, and shuffles his way into the living-room.

His laptop rests at the far end of the couch, as if it's been patiently waiting for him; Rick lifts it with grateful, joyous hands, heart pounding with inane excitement, and brings it back to the table.

He turns it on, pushing the screen open, hurries along to the kitchen to start the coffee machine. Then he goes back to the table, sinks into a chair with a happy sigh, and opens his draft for the next chapter. His fingers tingle.

Yes.

Writing.

* * *

He has no idea what time it is when he notices Kate watching him, or how long long she might have been standing there, the long line of her resting against their bedroom doorframe. He's still typing, the word processor sometimes struggling to keep up with his frenzied fingers, and he cannot stop.

"Hey," he says, sparing a quick glance to her, a quirk of his mouth.

"Hey," she answers, moving fluidly towards him. Her hand curls around his shoulder and she presses a kiss to his temple, soft and sweet.

She doesn't linger, and he's grateful for that, for the way she doesn't try to distract him, to claim his attention.

He types another paragraph, is hesitating over the spelling of _exhilarating_ when a random thought flashes through his mind. "I made coffee," he says, then grins in satisfaction when the word processor agrees with his spelling.

Kate's laugh unfurls somewhere at his back. "I noticed," she replies, and some part of him knows she's smiling, but he forgets about it before he can ask why.

When he finally reaches a good resting place, he reluctantly tears his eyes away from the screen, tries to steel himself against the words that still want to come out. He gets to his feet, knees protesting after staying immobile for so long, but Kate is no longer there.

He heads for the bedroom, finds her zipping up her summer dress, the damp length of her hair coiled over her shoulder. The smell of her shampoo surrounds him, fresh and fruity, delicious, and his resolve wavers for a second.

"Finished your chapter?" she asks, as if she can read his mind. Her eyes meet his, bright and knowing in the semi-dark, and a surge of love pushes him towards her, his hand splaying at her jaw as his lips find hers.

Her mouth is moist and cool and she hums into his kiss, lifts on tiptoe to wrap an arm around his neck, body pressed against his. God, she feels amazing.

They part, linger, her breath warm and tender at his neck, and he remembers her question.

"Finished, more or less, yeah. But - there's more. I have more to write."

He doesn't want to apologize - he's _not _apologizing - he just needs for her to understand, and he really shouldn't be so nervous about it when lately all she's wanted is her own private, alone time.

"Okay," she says simply, her lips skimming his collarbone. He shivers, tries to focus.

"I uh - I booked something for today - a tour in the jungle, not long, an hour or so. Nature Trail. There's a guide explaining the trees and plants and animals, and it seemed fun, but I'm not sure when I'll be done here."

She turns her face, rests her cheek against his shoulder. Her skin's so soft.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, so. If you want to go on your own? Pick-up point is at the beach, and I think you walk from there. Tour's at 3."

She says nothing, but he knows she's considering it, so he lets her have her time, content with the familiar weight of her canting into him.

"Maybe I will," she says finally, and she lifts her eyes to him, arches an eyebrow. "Have you already paid for it?"

He wants to smile at the suspicion in her tone, but she wouldn't like that. "No, Kate, I haven't. I think it's free, actually. And you're supposed to tip at the end."

"Oh." She relaxes against him, and he can't help but wonder if that will always be a cause for disagreement between them. Money. Such a stupid thing to fight about.

"I'm gonna go out, get lunch," she tells him, but she doesn't move. He doesn't either. "You want something?" she asks.

"Hmm." He thinks about it, surprised to discover some hunger there. Oh wow, he hasn't eaten anything at all, has he? "Yeah, sure," he answers. "If you don't mind coming back here to eat, I mean-"

"I offered, Castle." He hears the eye-roll in her voice, the effort she makes to contain it. "Do you know what you want?"

"Uh. Anything, really. Whatever you're having's fine."

She presses her lips together for the briefest second and he remembers too late that she doesn't like that, him modeling his choices after hers. She thinks he should make his own. Oh, well. If she's not going to say anything about it, he won't either.

"Okay. Be back in half an hour," she says, and she steps back to grab her purse, brushes her hand to his bicep on her way out.

He stands there for a moment more, missing the soft warmth of her body, irritated by the lack of a successful resolution to these unshaped conflicts they've been having.

But maybe it's a good thing. After all, irritation fuels his writing a lot better than happiness does.

* * *

He's lounging in a chair next to the pool, listening to his ipod, when Kate comes back from the Nature Trail. He feels a lot better; he's gotten it all out, written three chapters in a row that he has yet to check for typos - but they're good.

They feel right. He's pleased.

Rick pauses his song when Kate comes near, sits down on the edge of the pool, letting her legs slide into the water. She looks relaxed, and happy, her face a mirror for his own feelings; there's something so comforting about that.

"Was it good?" he asks, almost surprised by the sound of his own voice, a little rough after all that silence. He shifts in the chair, sits up so he can see her better, but he doesn't come any closer.

Kate turns her face to him and smiles slowly, gathers a knee to her chest. "Yeah. It was."

He thinks she's not going to say more, and it's fine by him, really, if she wants to keep this to herself, her own private, secret garden. He understands.

But it turns out she's only taking her time. "The guide was fun," she adds. "And the whole path - it was beautiful, Castle. So many flowers and plants I had no idea even existed. I liked that."

"The flowers, you mean?" He didn't think she was such a flower person.

"No, not - not the flowers exactly, but more the fact that...I like being reminded that there's still so much for us to discover. That the world is so much larger, so much richer than we realize. That it's impossible for any one person to know everything in it."

Oh, jeez. Kate. She's beautiful.

He nods his understanding, brusquely reminded of how much he loves her, how she's always more. More than he expects, more than the sum of the annoying little quirks he's been noticing, more than her murdered mother's case.

So much more. More than it's possible for him to know, even if he's given a lifetime to try.

He says nothing, but her eyes say it back, soft and tender in the late afternoon's golden light; and they stay like this, not touching, but closer than they've been all day, their hearts reconciled by the whispering breeze, the murmur of water around Kate's calf.


	68. 70: Saturday

**70**

* * *

"Last day," she murmurs, then tilts her head and smiles at him.

"Don't look so happy," he counters, smirking at her.

"Can't help it. I'm ready to go home." But of course, even as she says it, she can't help looking past him to the gorgeous blue water, the white sand, the view from the back deck that takes her breath away. "Although it is beautiful."

His hand sneaks out and traps hers; she lets him have it, brushes her thumb against his for just a second, then stands up and gathers their breakfast dishes.

Kate heads inside and puts everything in the sink, a soft sigh escaping her lips before she makes herself go back out to him.

Castle has his laptop out on the deck table, but it's not open. She thought he'd do some more writing, leave her in peace again today, but maybe not.

"Anything you want to do?" he asks, lifting a careful eyebrow as she leans against the wooden railing of the deck.

Ah, so he's asking her then. "Are you going to write?"

He shrugs.

"Castle." She's not interested in making the decision _for_ him.

His fingers skim the top of the computer. "I could. Yes."

"So write," she says easily, looking back over her shoulder at him. "Come find me when you're done."

"Where will you be?"

She smirks and stands up; she's been in her swimsuit since she got dressed this morning, beach wrap over it. "What'd I just say, Rick? Come find me."

He laughs a little at that. "You gonna leave me clues?"

Oh, he'd kinda like that, wouldn't he? "Maybe. You'll have to write and see."

Castle grins even wider, snags the corner of his laptop and draws it against his chest. "You gonna make me a treasure hunt?"

She shrugs at him, presses her lips together. "You gonna write?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Totally. Yes."

"Then there's your answer."

* * *

Kate waits for him to be totally immersed in his writing - it takes some time too, because apparently the idea of a treasure hunt is enough to distract him, keep him antsy and too present. When he finally does go to that place - the zone - wherever it is that keeps him enthralled and makes his fingers fly over the keyboard so that not even calling his name brings him around to her-

When he finally gets there, she starts.

It's actually fun.

She debates ending it on the beach, buried in the sand like actual treasure, but that's just too cheesy, even if she's doing it for Castle. Especially because she's doing it for him.

No, no burying herself in sand.

Not going to happen.

She finds a purple sharpie marker in a kitchen drawer and then searches for paper. She has to slip into the bedroom and steal his yellow legal pad while he's deep in the throes of Nikki Heat (sounds dirty, and it is kinda hot, the way his hair musses as he jerks his hand through it, the way his fingers stretch to encompass the keyboard).

Kate sits on the top stair of the back deck and plans it out in her head, slowly, trying to envision the treasure hunt she'll take him on. Around their villa would be best, and the clues can't be too easy, but she's not a wordsmith (unlike some people), so she's got to keep them fairly simple.

The breeze picks up her hair and strands catch in her mouth; she swipes them away and tucks a few behind her ear, thinking.

Okay. Yeah.

She's got it.

And maybe it will be a kind of. . .apology as well.

* * *

Castle can barely function. At first anyway. Every typo makes him crazy, every stumbling sentence frustrates him. And then it rolls - then it comes flying out of him, scene after scene, snarled plot smoothing out, the end of _Frozen Heat_ almost writing itself.

Having issues with his muse is actually good for the writing.

But the moment the thing is done, the moment the muse has stopped riding him so hard (ohhh, not what he meant, but he could go for that right about now), he lifts his head from the screen, shuts it, and stands up.

Time for a treasure hunt.

He's so giddy he might as well be giggling. If she didn't make him a treasure hunt, his disappointment will not be containable.

Oh. Oh, shit. He's gotta get himself together. Kate Beckett isn't the type of woman to drop clues all over the house so he can come find her and ravish her. Not at all. So he's got to make his expectations for this afternoon a little more reasonable. Tamp it down.

Castle rubs a hand down his face and opens the bedroom door, fully expecting to find Kate reading a book in the living room.

Only, she's not.

"Kate?"

Silence.

Of course, she could be just ignoring him. Or on the back deck. He thought he heard her out here a few minutes ago.

He steps over the threshold and nearly falls flat on his face, catching himself on the door frame with a hand. Castle glances down and sees the little box at his feet.

Blue, wooden, with beautiful pictures carved across the sides; he remembers the shopping trip with Alexis when Kate bought it. He must have kicked it with his big toe - it's throbbing now - but he leans down and picks it up, opens the lid.

A slip of yellow paper, folded in half and half again, rests in the bottom. His heart thumps wildly and he pulls it out, clutches the box to his chest as he opens the note.

The first clue.

Holy shit, Kate Beckett made him a treasure hunt.

* * *

_Quench your thirst._

Okay, okay, that should be easy, but it's not. It's not. What the hell?

Castle rubs a hand over his head as he stares into the fridge, then shuts the door again. He gets all his drinks from the fridge, so where in the world could she mean for him to go? Not the faucet, he already looked, not the glasses themselves in the cabinet, not the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, not the coffeemaker, and not the outside spigot attached to the villa (totally a last resort, but he's got no clue. Heh. No clue.)

What-

Ohhh...he's an idiot.

The glass of water on his bedside table.

But he was in there all morning. He was in the bedroom all morning, and she could _not_ have gone into the room and left him a clue without him noticing. No way.

No way.

Castle runs back to the bedroom anyway, skids over the bare wooden floor as his foot hits the rug at an awkward angle, rebounds off the door frame, and over to bedside dresser.

Yellow paper folded under his glass.

How in the heck did she manage to do that?

_NinjaKate_

Castle picks up the glass, grabs the note, unfolds it with trembling hands. (He's still a little stunned that she got in here while he was writing and he didn't even notice, but more than that, he's flattered and sappy and giddy about the fact that she knows he likes to have water next to his bed, that she's noticed).

_All your seashells are belong to us._

What?

Did Kate Beckett just make an internet meme joke?

Damn. He loves this woman.

* * *

After he finds the third clue inside the jar of decorative shells in the guest bathroom (Alexis kept making snide comments about the decor of the entirely-too-beachy bathroom she had to use), he's stumped.

_Come to the dark side._

Okay, so a Star Wars reference. Sure. All right. (Never mind that he's been totally blown away by her internet joke, then a Star Wars reference? Who the _hell_ is Kate Beckett? She reads, she loves comic books, she likes magic tricks. Next she's gonna reveal that she also entered the blacksmith guild on a quest in World of Warcraft.)

The dark side.

Castle glances around the back deck, hands on the wooden railing, severely at a loss. Failure of imagination. That ticks him off.

The dark side.

Nothing about Belize is dark. It's all brilliant white sand and bejeweled blue sea and blazing sunlight. The-

Oh.

The shade.

The dark side.

Ha!

Castle runs down the deck stairs, misses the last two steps and turns it into a jump, hits the sand with a thud. He swerves right to head for the pool, finds the umbrella open on the poolside table, and yes, yes, _yes,_ there's a yellow folded note.

She's tucked it into the cloth band that would wrap the closed umbrella, and as he stands in the shade, the dark side, he works the note free and unfolds it quickly, his heart racing, his body tingling, so very much in love with this woman who actually left him clues for a treasure hunt in which _she_ is the treasure.

God, he loves her. He loves her. And he didn't even _know_ she would be so awesome.

* * *

_Move that ass, move that ass. Get on the floor._

Wait.

What?

* * *

He's nearly shocked (and awed) when he remembers that was a song from two crazy wannabe rappers from a case they worked - and then realizes what she means by it.

He checks the couch in the living room first, where they started out that night, but there's no folded note, and then he gets on his hands and knees on the floor and peers under it and there it is.

This is right about where he accidentally rolled them off the couch and onto the floor, landing on top of her earlier in the week. She was laughing, breathless due to him being on top of her of course, and she told him-

"Move your ass, Castle."

And he did, of course he did. He tried to get off of her, but she held him down to her with those long, amazing legs - strong, sexy legs - and quirked an eyebrow at him and shook her head.

"Not like that."

Ung. The memory of it is making him weak-kneed right now. How they did it on the floor.

He tugs the yellow note from the place she's hidden it, sinks back to his haunches to read.

_Four down. One to go._

* * *

Kate shifts on the chair, her bottom lip between her teeth.

Maybe she made the clues too hard.

She scrapes a hand through her hair and checks the door of the coffee shop again. No sign of Castle.

Hmm.

She waited to leave the villa until she heard him close the laptop, then she scooted out to the entry, knowing he'd trip over the box she left and stop before he could see her. She had the door open already, so she slid out before he even read the first clue.

She expected him to be here an hour ago.

She thought it was a pretty simple clue. He's been begging every morning for them to go out for coffee instead of staying in, wanting to do something, be with people, whatever, and she keeps frowning and putting him off. He said a few days ago that they could even get it to go, and that would be enough, but she only shoved the filter down into the coffee pot and ignored him, tired of his whining.

So, well. She thought he'd get it immediately. See it for the apology it is.

Hmm, maybe-

"Kate."

She lifts her head and there he is, grinning at her and standing over the cafe table, cargo shorts slung low on his hips. His hair is mussed and his eyes are so bright, so blue, and then he sits down at her table.

"You found me," she murmurs, grinning back at him.

"X marks the spot, I see."

She glances down to the table and sees the cross-hatch pattern of its tile top, laughs because she didn't even intend for that confluence, but here it is.

"This one mine?" he asks.

She nods and pushes the to-go cup of coffee in his direction, then stands up with her own coffee pressed against her sternum, holds her hand out for him.

"We going somewhere?" he asks, standing up as well.

"To go, Castle, means you have to get it and leave." She raises an eyebrow and wriggles her fingers at him; he puts his hand in hers and stands, and she feels her heart race at the touch of his palm.

They thread their way through the tables and out the door, hand in hand, his heat at her back, and then they're outside on the wooden sidewalk of the main drag. Castle sips at his coffee, laughs.

"Iced, good idea."

She got them both iced coffee. It's too hot for anything else. "Yeah. Let's walk."

He nods at that, follows at her side as they meander past stores and galleries, pearl jewelers and dive shops, artisans and restaurants. It's late enough that they could wander for a while and then get dinner at one of these places, have the afternoon to themselves.

"I loved your clues," he says quietly, his voice coming to her suddenly, barely suppressed joy in his tone.

She glances over at him, the adoration on his face, goofy and endearing and awed, and she shakes her head at him, a little overwhelmed by it, but in such a good way.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You rock."

"Are we sixteen again, Castle?" She smirks at him with a roll of her eyes, but her heart is fluttering stupidly, high in her chest, breaking free of its bounds.

So this past week has been frustrating, and they haven't dealt with anything at all, but give her some time to herself and this is what happens. Her heart trips over itself for him.

"I can be sixteen again if you keep writing me sexy notes about moving my ass," he murmurs, his mouth at her ear, teeth coming in to nip at her neck.

She shivers, despite the humid afternoon, the heat of the sun, and draws closer to his body without meaning to. Kate lifts on tiptoes and kisses him back, roughly, pushing her mouth to his until he grunts and his hand comes up to hold her there tightly.

She breaks away, stunned at her own response, some of that heat and need and urgency of their first night bubbling in her chest. She puts two fingers to her lips, trying to breathe.

He's staring back at her with that exact same face, his eyes roiling. It could be thundering, pouring rain right now, and she wouldn't be surprised.

But this isn't what she meant to happen. She meant for them to have some time together, being together without the sex, a chance to connect again on the level which they've always connected best (well, before the sex, because the sex is best, really it is, oh wow, it is). She meant to have an afternoon with her partner.

"Let's walk," he says quietly, somehow able to read all that in her eyes.

She nods, finally able to take a long breath in, glances away from him. "Yeah. Walk. And talk."

She takes his hand again when he offers it, feels the slide of his large palm, the width of his fingers diving between hers, the bear paw of a hand as it covers hers. Like his body can, like his personality can too. But this is good; her hand doesn't disappear in his, just rests there.

"Castle," she starts, watching him as they take those first few steps down the boardwalk.

He turns to her, his eyes no longer quite so intense but still happy, still happy to be here.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."


	69. 71: Sunday

**71**

* * *

Castle wakes suddenly when the plane jolts, glances around. Looks like Kate woke as well; she's giving him a sleepy-eyed yawn and rolling her head on his shoulder.

Her head on his shoulder. Huh. Castle lifts his hand and rakes it through her hair as she yawns again, kisses her temple.

"Last flight," she murmurs. "Almost home."

He deflates a little at that, but she's still curled at his arm and nestling closer, her cheekbone sharp at his joint, eyes opening and closing in that way she has where she thinks she should wake but she really doesn't want to.

The flight attendant comes around and tells them to put their seats upright, tray tables in their locked positions. Kate leaves his side, rather reluctantly it seems, and they both get situated for landing.

Once the plane is on the ground and parked at the gate, they stay in their seats until the door is released and opened. Kate takes his hand in hers as he grabs her bag; she seems fine with that too, so he pushes it a little and laces their fingers together, kissing her softly.

She smiles into his mouth and nudges him towards the aisle, keeping her hand firmly in his.

* * *

Waiting around the carousel as luggage spins in vain, none of it theirs, Kate watches him play with her fingers, his touch smooth and soft and light. She quirks her thumb and he sort of comes to, as if it was all rather unconsciously done, and he gives her a startled look.

Before he can apologize, she leans into him and presses her mouth to his, gently, rubs her thumb over his lips. He looks sort of sad, and she knows it's because their vacation is over, but she can make it up to him.

"I'll come over for dinner?"

He stares at her, opens his mouth, closes it, averts his eyes, and she realizes they're not on the same page.

"I thought you'd come back with me," he murmurs and turns away from her.

Oh. She watches him grab her suitcase from the conveyor belt, put it at her feet. "I want to get my laundry done," she tries. "Clean up whatever's left of my place. There's a lot to do."

He nods, still says nothing, not looking at her. Shit. What's she supposed to do with that? Kate pulls up the handle of her suitcase and watches him a moment. Is this how he wants to leave things? Pissed at her for wanting to make sure her apartment is even still there-

"Actually," he says suddenly, rubbing a hand down his face. "You'll have to come back with me. I've got your keys."

"You have what?"

But he's shouldering his way back to the luggage carousel for his suitcase and she's left with her mouth open, incredulous.

* * *

"I got the locks changed," he says, shrugging at her and then giving his address to the taxi driver.

She stares at him, open-mouthed. "What the hell were you thinking-"

"He got into your place with a key. I can't believe you wouldn't _want_ me to get the place re-keyed."

"You didn't ask," she yells, and he rubs his hand down his face to keep from shouting back.

"It's just a smart move. Get new locks on the doors if you're gonna insist on staying there alone-"

"Insist on staying there alone?" she gasps.

He can hear the growl in her throat that's his warning, but he doesn't care. Matters of her safety - he's not going to back down. He wouldn't do it any differently. "It's not safe."

The cab isn't a lot of space for an argument, and the driver keeps turning up the music. She's just yelling right over it though.

"This is my life, Castle. You didn't even ask me! You didn't even _tell _me."

Castle clenches his fists and shakes his head, seething with all of it, hurt and frustrated and painfully aware of how much it echoes their fight a little over two months ago.

"I didn't think I'd have to ask," he bites back. "Holy shit, Kate. You really want these guys running around New York with keys to your place?"

"What does it even matter? If they want in, they're sure as hell not gonna let a locked door stand in their way. I'd rather they not do structural damage, Castle. Just wreck the place as usual and get out. Lock it behind them."

With a grunt, Castle shoves back against the door, the handle digging into his spine. "Is that sarcastic? Are you seriously being sarcastic about this? It's not funny."

"This is my _life_, Castle. What gives you the right to-"

He growls. "I _love_ you."

"So?" she hisses.

So? "Shit," he breathes, chest tightening.

"I'd think if you loved me, Castle, you wouldn't try to rearrange my life behind my back. You'd treat me like your partner, your equal. Not a child."

He shakes his head and glances out the window, afraid that if he opens his mouth, the words that come out won't be any good. Won't help. Would only make this infinitely worse.

The cab pulls up at his loft at that moment, his saving grace, and he yanks the door open the second it stops. Kate doesn't slide across; she doesn't even look at him.

He leans into the cab and asks the driver to stay, then glances to Kate, sees the flare of that muscle in her jaw, the pulse of that tendon in her forehead.

"Let me run up and get the keys from Alexis. She picked them up for - me." He was going to say _us_, but it won't come out.

* * *

Kate scrapes her hair off her face and doesn't get out when he comes back down. He hands her a tiny white envelope and she takes it, pops it open. Four keys are inside.

"Four?"

He shrugs but won't look at her.

Fine. Whatever. She's not giving him a key though. That's what he wanted when he had four made, right? He doesn't get a key if he thinks he can do whatever the hell he wants. How does she know he won't come in, do stuff to her place, rearrange her spices again or steal her underwear because he thinks it's funny and he's a damn child?

He leans into the cab and his eyes won't meet hers. "I - the couch. It's back from the upholster. It came in and Alexis let them move it in while. . .you were gone."

She grits her teeth at that and tries to ignore the stab that goes straight through her. "While we - _we_ were gone, you mean. So what else did you do, Castle? Is there more?"

"I was trying to help."

"Thanks for all your _help. _I don't need it."

"Kate. I didn't do it for you. I did it for me."

"Obviously."

"I want to be able to sleep at night if you're not here, okay? Is that a crime? To be sure you're safe?"

"A new lock on my door is hardly a deterrent."

"Great. Now I really won't sleep, and it's not like you'll condescend to stay. So I'm screwed. Thanks."

Castle turns his back on her and leaves her in the cab.

She gives the driver her address and won't watch him walk away.


	70. 72: Monday

**72**

* * *

Kate keeps waking up that night, has these strange, frustrating dreams that tug at her consciousness, leave her staring at the ceiling in a hazy mixture of irritation and incomprehension.

Obviously no, she's not in freaking _Naples_, and why the hell would she be chasing after a suspect without a gun and handcuffs? Like that's ever a good idea. Ugh.

Dreams are stupid.

The early morning light finds her curled in bed, eyes closed against the lack of sleep; but at least she can roll and stretch all she wants, doesn't have to share the wide expanse of her mattress, doesn't have to listen to Castle's soft snores as sleep eludes her.

And when she decides she's had enough, when she sits up and swings her legs out of bed, he's not there to crack an eye open and complain about how early it is, _Kate, come back to bed, it's a _vacation_._

She closes her eyes for a moment, lets out a long exhale, willing herself to forget about all the annoying little things that she's still, childishly, clinging to. She's got good reasons to be mad at him; his sleeping habits are just not a part of it.

She's being unfair to him, to them both. They deserve better than this.

She will be better than this.

But she can't lie; it's a relief to be moving around in her kitchen, making coffee, cooking breakfast without having to worry about waking anyone, having to sustain some sort of conversation.

And her apartment is - her space. Hers and hers alone. Her home. She doesn't have to share it; she doesn't have to ask anyone if she can eat the last of the cereal. (She should probably go grocery shopping, actually).

So what if her place has been broken into? So what if people are trying to scare her into hiding? She will not be scared; she will not hide. She's done _nothing_ wrong, and Castle's concerns about her safety?

They're valid no matter where she is. Nothing will stop these guys if they're out to get her. She remembers Maddox on the roof, how powerless she was against him, how utterly vulnerable, and she has to square her shoulders, harden herself against the shiver that wants out.

Castle just wants her by his side at all times, and that is-

not acceptable.

He will have to work on his anxiety, just like she will have to work at her visceral need for time alone. So they can - meet somewhere in the middle. She doesn't want to be unjust to him.

But he hasn't been fair to her either. He knows her. He should know better than getting all these things fixed without even telling her-

She spent last night rearranging the things she has left, so her apartment will look a little less bare, and there was no avoiding the shiny new computer on her desk, a replica of the old one that got busted in the break-in. She didn't touch it though.

He means well.

She knows he does.

But it's still her life. Shouldn't she have a say in which _computer_ she gets?

Kate shakes her head, breathes deeply to soothe the bubbling frustration, the sparks of anger. What she needs - what she needs is a distraction. What she needs is to not be fingering her phone, embers of guilt rising because she hasn't texted, hasn't called.

He hasn't either, and calling him right now... It would be for all the wrong reasons.

She wants them to be able to talk this out, without yelling, have a reasonable, adult discussion. And maybe, yeah - maybe they need a day apart in order to do that.

Kate rinses her empty mug and puts it in the dishwasher, heads for her bedroom. She'll take a shower, get dressed, and she'll read one of the manuscripts she has left. Good thing she's been smart about it: she saved the best ones for last.

A knock at her door distracts her from the book (okay, not a book yet, but it should be - that's how _good _it is) and Kate slowly unfolds herself from the couch, vaguely annoyed at having to stop in the middle of a chapter.

Crap, is it one in the afternoon already?

Her stomach rumbles and she presses a hand to it, realizes that she's completely starved. Oh. Well.

She's surprised there hasn't been a second knock on the door by now; maybe it's not Castle, after all. Maybe he's being patient. Right.

She goes to the door, undoes the bolts; her mouth drops open when she sees the man standing on the other side. Not who she expected.

"Dad," she says, hoping her voice holds some measure of happiness among the breathless shock.

Dropping by unannounced is just not - something Jim Beckett does. Ever. She cannot bring another instance of it to mind.

"Katie," he greets with that closed-mouth smile of his, stepping closer to give her a hug. She lets him, remembers to hug back just in time.

"Is everything alright?" she can't help but ask, even though she called him last night to check on him, let him know she was back.

"Yeah, course it is. Why wouldn't it be," her father answers, blue eyes light and teasing as he pointedly glances into the apartment, clearly nudging for an invitation. Unless he's wondering if she has company. Jeez.

"Oh, uh, come in," Kate offers belatedly, her cheeks too warm. "I'm - I was reading."

She moves out of the way, closes the door while Jim steps in. He takes a few steps before he pauses at the threshold of her living room. She looks too, sees it through his eyes, the empty shelves, the walls bare because she hasn't replaced her frames yet, the missing armchair. She feels a sudden need to explain.

"I haven't had time to fix everything yet - there was a lot of stuff I had to throw away. But give me a week and it'll be-"

"Kate," he says, a gentle chide, as he turns to her. "Do you think I'm here to look at your apartment and make judgments?"

Right. Her breath comes out in a great whoosh, her muscles suddenly relaxing, and she cannot for the life of her understand why she's so nervous - it's her father.

She just - he was unexpected. That's probably it. This is not a good time for unexpected, not when Castle's paranoia is rubbing off on her, despite her best efforts.

"Why _are _you here, Dad?" she asks curiously, knowing he won't take offense. They're too much alike.

He lifts up his left hand, and she notices for the first time the plastic bag that hangs from his wrist, the delicious smell that surrounds it.

"Thought we could eat lunch together. I figured you probably didn't have a lot of edible food left in your kitchen-" he glances at the fridge and cupboards as if he can see right through them, "and well, I wanted to see my daughter. That okay with you?"

He doesn't wait for her answer, and sits comfortably at the table, starting to unwrap the bag's contents. After a second of hesitation, Kate joins him, sinking into the next chair as her mouth waters.

She still thinks he's not telling her the whole truth, but the burgers and the fries - oh, he bought them at the diner they usually meet at, how sweet - are way too enticing for her not to give in.

They eat in silence; they usually do. Silence is their thing, hers and her dad's, and between them it's never uncomfortable, never awkward. It's just who they are.

She can feel his eyes on her as she finishes her fries and reaches for her drink, though, and she knows he has things to say. He's here for a reason.

And she's curious to hear it.

"Got a call from Rick last night," her father says at last, never one from small talk. Something in her swells in indignation (he went to her _dad?_ Seriously, how old is he?) and she opens her mouth to let it out-

"Now, don't get all worked up, Katie. He was only calling to see how I was doing, let me know you guys were back. Which I found rather thoughtful, actually. But imagine my surprise - you'd called about twenty minutes before, for the exact same reason."

Oh, shit. Really? Ugh. Castle.

"That seemed to indicate a certain lack of - communication, on both sides," Jim goes on, clear eyes studying her, seeing too much. "I happened to point that out to him, and he admitted, reluctantly I must say, that you'd had a fight."

Great. Just g_reat. _Her father is here to give her relationship advice. Kate drops her face to her hands, feels childish for doing so, pushes her hair back as she straightens.

"Dad, it's not that big a deal. People have fights all the time-"

"Ah, but see, by this point, I was intrigued. So I nudged a little, asked a few more questions-"

"I'm sure you didn't have to push very hard," she mutters under her breath, regretting the words as soon as they're out.

"Kate," her dad scolds, giving her that straight, no-nonsense look that sends a spike of shame through her chest. "The story Rick told me - believe me, he wasn't trying to make himself look good. And he didn't ask me to be his advocate, if that's what you're implying. Honey, I'm not here to defend what he did. I'm just-" he sighs, presses his lips together, bobs his head at her. "I thought maybe it would help to have someone else's experience to compare it to."

Someone else's. Like...his?

"Right, because you and Mom always fought so much," she says, her voice heavy with irony and disbelief.

Jim shrugs. "We had...our moments. It wasn't always easy."

She stares at him. Tries to recall her parents arguing, and comes back empty. "Really?" she asks, feels the tentative nudge of relief at her heart. "Because I... I can't remember you guys fighting. Ever. You just - you just seemed so in _sync_, all the time, the perfect couple, and I-"

"Oh, sweetheart."

She raises her eyes; it takes her a moment to realize her father is laughing at her.

She chews on her lower lip, doesn't want to let it bother her, even though it does, it always does, even now that she's thirty-two and not seven anymore.

"Katie," he says tenderly, reaching for her hand. She lets him have it; he'll tease her for sulking otherwise. "I'm not laughing at you. It only amuses me, to see how determined we can be to hold on to our illusions, our own version of things. But Kate," he goes on, growing more serious, "just because your mother is dead, doesn't mean you should make her into this... paragon of perfection."

Kate opens her mouth to speak, but he won't let her. "Your mom wasn't perfect, Katie. Neither am I. We had to work at it, every day, and we had to be honest with each other. And we fought, oh, of course we did. So many times. Johanna was stubborn, and she always had trouble understanding that not everybody thought like her, worked like her. And you know me - I'm a quiet guy, too reserved, some people would say, and I could never bring myself to say the things that needed to be said. The things she needed to hear. So every now and then, sparks would fly. We always tried to keep you out of it, as much as we could, and I'm glad we seem to have succeeded so well, but..." he shakes his head, smiles. "Don't think it was easy."

Kate takes a moment to absorb his words, stunned to realize how much she needed them. She - wow. She's been doing thar, hasn't she? She's been subconsciously comparing every one of her relationships to her parents', and none of them - none of them exactly passed the test with flying colors.

Her parents made it look so easy.

And it was all a mirage?

"Was it worth it?" she asks finally, her voice tripping over the words, emotion thick in her throat. "All that effort?"

Her dad simply looks at her, and smiles.

Oh. Right.

Yes. Stupid question.

* * *

Castle wrenches open his front door. He's struck dumb on seeing Kate Beckett there. Smirking a little.

Like yesterday didn't happen.

"So."

He lifts his eyebrows at that and she comes on into the loft.

"You called my Dad to tattle-tale, Castle?"

"No! No, I-" He stutters to a stop. Shit.

She's still smirking, eyebrow raised, and she draws in closer, her hand wrapping around his forearm and releasing the glass from his fingers. She pushes him back into the living room, sets the glass on the table, stands for a second over him as he sits on the couch at her direction.

Then she sits beside him. His heart is pounding and he can't think of a thing to say. Might be a good idea to keep quiet though.

He did call her dad. Yeah, he did. He's not going to apologize for that either, so if she thinks-

"You and I need to have a conversation," she says, and even though her lips still quirk up at him, her eyes are serious.

He swallows hard and tries to marshal his defenses. He's not wrong. She's got to-

"Castle. Start over. Okay?"

He lifts his gaze to her, and something there in her face reminds him-

This is Kate.

Kate.

He takes a breath. "Okay. Start over."

"I think in my. . .haste to have you, I skipped over the part where we talk about stuff."

In her haste to _have him_?

Castle grins. "Oh yeah?"

She rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, you wanted me pretty bad," he says, can't help the grin. Still he's reminded that they were, actually, in the middle of a fight when she came to his apartment that night at the beginning of the summer. "Yeah, we - there were things that got said, which we never unsaid."

"I thought that night I unsaid a lot," she mutters.

He snorts. "You said things. Loudly. Kinda gasping too."

She lifts a startled look to him, her mouth open, and then laughter bubbles up out of her like relief.

He leans his elbows on his knees and his shoulders sag in similar relief; she sounds happy, even if they're in the middle of this. And that's good, that's okay. They can make it through if she's still happy with him.

Shit, his chest feels like it's been broken open. He didn't realize how tightly wound he's been all day.

"So," she says then.

"So," he echoes, shrugging a little at her.

"Say it, Castle."

"No. You go first. Then I know-"

"You can't treat me like Alexis," she blurts out, then presses her lips together with another eye-roll. "You shouldn't even treat Alexis like Alexis."

He sighs, laces his fingers together. He opens his mouth to defend himself, and she shakes her head, a short jerk that he's seen before - at the precinct, when she's in her element and he's just got to shut up and follow orders.

Even though words are on his tongue to bite back at her.

"I'm an adult," she says carefully. "And I have - you know me, Castle. Jeez. I don't know how you thought this _wouldn't_ blow up in your face."

"Because I was under the assumption you're a rational human being-"

"Castle."

_Who loves me too. _But he shuts up.

"When you go behind my back-"

"You _asked_ me to have your couch recovered. I offered and you agreed. And then I said we should get a new computer and you said yes-"

She holds up her hand as he opens his mouth again, a flare going off in her eyes that warns him. He tightens his hands and lets her have the floor.

"Getting my couch recovered isn't the issue. Castle, getting my locks changed isn't even the issue."

"It's not?"

She groans and presses her hands into her eyes, sighing at him.

Nice. Thanks, Kate. "You wanna tell me what the issue is? Because I don't see how Alexis has-"

"Not Alexis," she says, jerking her head up. Her mouth is pressed so tightly together she looks like she wants to strangle him. Well, not if he gets to her first.

"You are so damn frustrating," he growls, pushing back into the couch and off his thighs. He rubs both hands down his face and hears her laugh.

When he drops his hands, she's still trying not to smile. "Yeah, you said that already."

He said-

Oh. He did.

"Yeah, well. Whatever."

She nods quickly, averting her eyes, and he realizes that he just gave her the equivalent of her _So?_ that she shot off in the taxi yesterday.

Not what he meant to do. Never what he means to do. There should be no doubt.

"Hey, Kate."

She glances at him now, a quick look, but he reaches out and snags her hand. Even though taking her hand doesn't seem to be the way to reassure her - just works on himself - but it's all he's got.

Okay, no. Not true. He's got words too.

"You know I still love you," he says.

She sucks in a breath and gives a short nod. "But you know that doesn't exactly solve the problem for us."

Well. And that wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear in response. "Looks like neither of us get what we want," he mutters.

"Castle," she murmurs, and he hears the admonishment in it, raises his eyes to catch her watching him with a frown. She squeezes his hand and something fierce falls over her face, something tenacious. "Can we do this without sulking? Because it's not attractive. Let's have a real conversation. You talk to me about this-"

"You want me to talk to you? Fine. I told you I loved you and you brushed it aside like it means nothing."

She gives him a steady look, but he sees the way her shoulders hunch just a little, the way she's holding herself stiffly on his couch. "I'm sorry," she says finally. "It didn't seem to be-" She chews her bottom lip and tries again. "The conversation seemed to be about your secret informant, and how you'd hidden it from me, and not exactly the best time to talk about-"

"I meant just now. I meant yesterday," he interrupts.

Her mouth drops open.

"But okay," he says, lifting his eyes to the ceiling, tilting his head back. Can he do this too? Go back there? Maybe they need to. "Okay. Then too."

The silence is so complete it resonates like an entity.

"Why is this so damn hard?" she breathes out.

He jerks his head up and glances at her. Is she crying? No. No, shit, okay. She's not. But-

"It shouldn't be this hard. You're right. I'm a best-selling novelist and you're a - well, were, okay, but still. You're a scarily intelligent woman with bad-ass skills. Between the two of us, we should be able to analyze our issue here and fix it."

She nods, her eyes on him again. "So no more - okay. I need to acknowledge - shit, it sounds worse like that. I love you too, Castle. Is that - I mean, you need to hear that. Okay. I got it."

She's biting her lip so fiercely, her eyebrows knit together, her whole body braced for impact. She looks ready to rumble. To wrestle this thing out. He kinda loves her all the more for it. Makes him willing to overlook how _un_willing she sounded. Because at least she looks ready to do battle for them.

"And I. . .treated you like Alexis," he gives. Yeah. "I just assumed that you - okay, yeah, I hear what I'm doing here. Let me think about this before it comes out of my mouth."

She huffs at that, giving him a sly look, a twist of her lips like a smile. She reaches out and snags his hand again, squeezing, and it does him a world of good.

He treated her like Alexis. He loves Alexis.

"But I love you too," he says, shrugging at her. "I - I don't know how to - show me what I shouldn't have done. I'm at a loss here."

"Remember when you GPS tracked her phone?"

He winces.

"Yeah," she murmurs quietly, drawing her hand away from his. "Like that, Castle. Do you know why it was wrong to GPS track her phone?"

"I - because - okay, now you're making _me_ feel like a child."

"Hmm."

He glances at her face and there's a little quirk of her mouth for that one.

"But yeah. I remember. Because I should've trusted her. Because she's growing up - she's practically an adult. Or was then. Is now." His shoulders slump and he sighs. "She's an adult now."

"And so am I."

He watches her for a moment, remembering suddenly the sick horror in her eyes when he told her about Smith. Accusation there, but more than that - how it killed her for him to have been in on this for a year without saying anything. "I should have told you."

"You should have _asked_ me. It's my apartment."

He shakes his head, wonders why this makes him feel like crying. "I should have told you about all of it. The phone call I got, the deal to keep them from coming after you, the way we could keep you safe. I didn't trust you to want to save yourself. I didn't trust you to love me enough to want to. I didn't trust you."

She nods slowly; he can see she's struggling to hold something back. Or maybe just struggling to let it go.

"You should have asked," she says then, quietly, her voice strong even in its softness.

"I should have asked," he says.

The silence goes on, a breathing thing; it makes his chest hurt as the barbed wire comes out, unwinds, sloughs off in the delicate peace they've signed.

She sighs. "You got me a computer-"

"A gift," he shrugs at her, his heart struggling a little at the look on her face. "Kate. You have to - okay, you don't _have to_. I hear how that sounds, but I - this is how I do this. I want to help. I want to do this for you because it's like the one thing I can do - what else is the money good for but-"

She shuts him up with a kiss, two fingers at his jaw, flashbacks of memory and the burn of her touch conspiring to knock the wind out of him. He strokes a palm over her cheek, his fingers in the soft hair just past her ear, and he takes from her mouth all that she gives, breath and life and forgiveness.

When she stops, when her thumb nudges his jaw to break them apart, it's not enough, and more than he could have hoped for.

She strokes his bottom lip, down to his chin with that thumb, then lightly kisses him again. "That's not true, Castle." Her mouth ghosts over his again, the heat of her making his body tremble. "More than just a sugar daddy."

He laughs at that, the sound a little giddy with relief. She kisses him again, these chaste things that make his blood dance, make his body settle in and then flare up.

"I don't want you to buy me a computer," she murmurs. "I don't want you to change the locks at my place. I don't want you to wake up at eight just because I can't sleep. I don't want you to have what I'm having when we're at a restaurant."

He can barely hear her over the pounding of his blood through his veins as she keeps working at his mouth, her tongue darting out to slide provocatively against his lips, her fingers keeping him still with their hypnotic stroking.

"I do want you. You understand me, Castle?"

He's making aimless circles on her thighs with his palms, around and around, and he gets it, he understands, he thinks he does, he's not sure- "I don't know."

"It's like at work," she says, painting her lips against his slowly, a delicious friction that sparks all down his body. "With us."

_Us. _A tidal rush of love sweeps over him and takes him out, leaving him staring at her mouth like its a life preserver, anxious to have it, needing it, drowning without it.

"Partners, remember? You were a tag-along, a shadow, but you made a place for yourself on my team, Castle. At least give me the courtesy of being your equal in this too. I can't be you partner if you're treating me like a child."

He snaps back from her mouth, stunned, aroused and, jeez, _shaking_ like he just ran a marathon and she's watching him with hooded eyes, the want so clear and bright that it takes his breath away.

"Alexis isn't here," he fumbles out.

She smiles slowly at him. "Oh really."

"Partner. I got it. I did. I hear you. And my mother is at her school until six."

He feels the tug of her fingers and glances down; she's laced them together.

And he knows what that signals.

Castle grins and pulls her up and off the couch, leading her back to his bedroom. "This is my favorite part."

"Of course it is," she laughs. "Typical."

He glances back at her, just to see that wide-mouthed smile, the amusement even in her eyes, and she darts in to kiss him, those teeth flashing, tugging at his bottom lip. His body crashes back into the wall; he brings both hands to her hips to steady them, seeking skin under her shirt.

"Castle," she murmurs in between breaths, in between dirty-fierce licks of her tongue, nips of her teeth. "Castle, I love you."

He grunts and wraps his arms around her, crushing, everything crushing, too tight, too much.

She nibbles lightly at his ear. "Make up sex, for the win."

Yeah. Yes. "I told you it was my favorite part."


	71. 73: Tuesday

**73**

* * *

It's three in the morning when he puts her in a cab outside his loft. He gets to place a last kiss on her lips, sweet and meaningful, before he steps back and watches the taxi drive away.

Castle sighs - he didn't want her to leave, but he's beginning to understand the push and pull of their relationship now - and he turns back to his building, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Something pokes him, pinching under his nail, and at that same moment, his phone vibrates with a text.

He pulls out his phone, tugging the thing with it that stabbed him, and reads the text.

_Use your powers for good, not for evil._

She slipped her apartment key into his pocket.

* * *

When Kate shuts her front door and flips the top deadbolt, then leans over and slides the bolt into the floor - extreme, really, it's extreme, Castle - she realizes with a sudden startled breath of laughter that she actually does feel - crazily - safer.

She didn't know she needed it. But she did. She does.

Kate sighs and pulls her phone back out of her pocket. She texts him, _Home. Doors are locked._

It's an apology, it's an acknowledgement, it's the reassurance he needs. She wants him to sleep at night, not be up worrying about her, and she wants to be able to feel like she can stay at her place without him having a panic attack.

Although Castle has never been one for panic attacks, really, has he? No. He's steady. She's the one with PTSD.

Speaking of, she needs to call her therapist and schedule an appointment. Three weeks without Dr Burke, a major fight between her and Castle, and yeah - she has some talking to do, and not just in therapy.

Her phone goes off and she sees he's messaged her back. She checks it and rolls her eyes.

_Not even my all-powerful key can get me past those deadbolts. So you're safe from all my nefarious plots._

* * *

Castle groans awake when he feels the sun on his face, flops over onto his other side and snuggles into the pillow.

It takes a long moment for him to realize that the light is fierce and something has woken him up. He slits his eyes open and slides a hand out from under the sheets, takes his phone up from the bedside table.

Oh, oops. It's one in the afternoon.

Castle lurches upright and rubs at his eyes, enters the passcode to his phone. There are bunch of new tweets, fifteen new emails, and five messages.

He thumbs on the message app and checks that first-

And yeah. Kate messaged him three times.

_Brunch?_

_Never mind, meeting Lanie. Later?_

_Silent treatment. Classy. Adopting my coping mechanisms?_

He calls her immediately, grunting to clear his throat, and heads for the shower. He flips on the faucet as it rings and slants it hotter-

"Hm, so you're speaking to me again," she murmurs over the line.

"Heh. Yeah. Sorry. Just saw your messages. You have lunch with Lanie?"

"Brunch. I did. Castle, it's one o'clock in the afternoon."

"Uh, yeah. It is." He hooks his thumb into his boxers and starts tugging them off.

"You wanna let me in?"

The tease in her voice arrests his movement, and he spins back out of his bathroom, heading for his door. "Are you here?"

"I knocked."

"Ohhhh, that's what woke me up."

"I woke you up? You seriously just got out of bed."

"Uh. Yeah," he mutters, now at the door and opening it. There she is, dressed in a sleeveless v-neck shirt that's loose over her hips, dark wash jeans. She slides her phone into her back pocket, gives him a slow perusal with her eyes.

"Looking good, Castle."

"You're mean," he growls back, hearing the amusement in her voice.

She comes inside and her hand drops to his waist immediately, her fingers sliding under his waistband. A jolt whips through him and he drops his phone; she laughs and removes her hand, trails her fingers up his chest to his sternum, leans in to kiss him.

"Morning," she says back, breaking their kiss to smile at him.

"Thanks. Uh, I - yeah. You want a key?"

"Is this an official thing now? Exchanging keys?" she smirks, leaning over to scoop up his phone. She doesn't hand it back though; she keeps it, pushing him back towards the living room.

He moves to sit, but she pops the waistband of his boxers; he jerks to a stop, turning back to her.

"Wrong way, Castle."

"Wrong. . ."

She nods towards his bedroom. "You need to shower, Rip Van Winkle."

"Ha-ha." He shoves a hand through his hair and stumbles towards the hall, then turns back to look at her. "You wanna-"

"Nope," she says positively, shaking her head. "I already took my shower. You missed it."

"Darn."

"Go, Castle."

He goes.

* * *

Kate sits back on his thighs, her feet bracketing his hips in his office chair, his hands on her knees as he grins at her. She trails her fingers up and down his legs, distracted by what she knows she needs to say, and he gives a little grunt.

"Can't do that if you're not gonna follow through," he gets out.

She glances at him with a little grin, leans in to press a hot kiss to his mouth, her knees dropping down to his seat as his hands slide up her thighs.

"Mm, my bad."

"Not bad. Not at all," he says hastily. "Ignore me. Do what you like to my body. It's yours."

She shakes her head at that, reaches out to palm his cheek, brushing her thumb over his lips. "I don't want your body," she says gently, then laughs at the disappointment on his face. "Okay, I do want your body. But I don't want to own it, Castle."

"Are we having a serious conversation while you're sitting on my thighs and touching me so. . .so. . ."

She rolls her eyes at him and moves to get off; he clutches at her thighs, keeps her there.

"I can be good. Serious conversation. Go," he says, nodding at her.

"I don't like the idea of ownership," she starts, somewhat hesitant because she still hasn't been able to find good words for it. She even hashed it out with Lanie at brunch and still - she's got nothing.

"I'm not looking to own you," he says back.

She nods slowly. "I should also say that I appreciate - I can see that I needed a new computer, I should have my locks changed, and you're used to getting things done. You're not one to really wait for permission, you're one to ask for forgiveness."

He gives her a little grin, but she can see it's not as full-bodied as it's been. His fingers trace over her hips, soothing mostly to him probably because it puts her on edge.

Castle turns his face away from her. "People hardly ever say no to me anymore. I do what I want because I make Black Pawn a lot of money. So they cater to me. I know that. I see it. But it makes it hard not to believe that I'm always right."

She pokes his stomach and he huffs, hunching over, grabbing her finger as his eyes meet hers again.

"I promise, Castle. You're not always right."

He does laugh at that, hooks his finger around hers, leans in to brush a kiss over her mouth. "I meant - I changed your locks because it needed to be done, not because I think you're mine."

"I get that," she says, squeezing the finger hooked with hers. "I do. But-"

"Yeah, I see. I got it, Kate. You're the first person in a long time who has actually said no to me."

"Well, it's not a no all the time." Kate slides both hands up his chest to his neck, presses her warm palms to the thump of his pulse. "If you want, it can be a yes right now."

"I want."

"Then yes."


	72. 74: Wednesday

**74**

* * *

Castle rubs at his hair and squints one eye in the mirror.

"Dad?"

He steps out of the bathroom and towards his daughter, meets her halfway and gives her a hug. "Hey, haven't seen you today. Where-"

"Actually, I went back to work at the morgue with Lanie."

"You did?" He leans back and stares at her, then closes his mouth, remembering what Kate said about not treating Alexis like Alexis. She's an adult too. "You did. Wow. Okay. How was it?"

"Good," she says quickly and then her brow furrows. "But Dad. How will - is Kate okay with me being there?"

Castle wonders what she means - in what way is she concerned? "Why wouldn't Kate be okay with it? Kate doesn't have a say in-"

Alexis laughs and shrugs him off, shaking her head. "No, no. Not like that. Just that I'm doing the job while she. . .doesn't have hers. I guess."

Castle shrugs. "Don't know, Alexis. Why don't you talk to her about it? She's coming over here for dinner."

Alexis nods slowly. "Yeah. Okay, I can do that. But Dad, if she's upset, what do I do?"

"It's up to you, Alexis. This is your life. If this is something you want to do, then you make your case. Just like you made it to me. She's not unreasonable. All that much."

Alexis smiles slowly at that and then lifts up on her toes and hugs him hard. "Thanks Dad."

* * *

The look on Castle's face when he opens the door should warn her, but she just shrugs it off and accepts the hug he gives her, kissing him before he pulls away.

"What'd you do today?" she asks, letting him guide her to the kitchen.

"Gina was being a harpy so I-"

"Come on," she says, shaking her head a little at him. "She's nice enough."

"Anyway," he cuts in. "She was being a nag-"

"Not really any better."

"-she was though. In email, but then when I got back, phone calls too. So I went to Black Pawn and let her harass me about the book."

"Oh, yeah?" she smirks. "And you managed to survive. Big strong man-"

"You say that like it's not true," he gasps, eyes widening at her.

She nudges his hip and rolls her eyes. "Pour me a drink, Castle."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Alexis fidgets. She knows she's doing it, but she can't help it. She thought her dad would bring it up to Kate and kind of smooth the way for her, but he hasn't. It's just like any old dinner with the three of them, like it has been all summer.

Kate's been extra polite though - smiley, if that's a word - and she looks relaxed. She's laughing at Dad and swiping spaghetti sauce off his chin, shaking her head at him.

It's now or never, and Alexis has always had a personal motto that she won't back down from the things that make her afraid. She goes right for them. Because of her dad, because he's the kind of man who admires that, and Alexis has always been a daddy's girl.

Since she can remember, so many things made her afraid. The big slide on the playground, the high dive at the pool, flying alone to visit her mom, learning to drive, speaking at her graduation - Alexis is that kind of person. She knows it. But she looks each fearful thing straight in the eye and goes right after it because that's what her father has taught her.

No fear. No regrets.

Take the risks for the things that matter.

"Kate," she starts. "Kate, I went back to work at the morgue. With Lanie."

Kate startles, her fork falling to the plate, and she throws a look at Alexis's father. As if for help.

Huh. That's interesting.

"With Lanie," Kate says slowly.

She lays out her case, just like her father suggested. "I really like the work. And it's not just interesting, it's important too. It's like I somehow can help, something bigger than myself, something that means more than just me. So Dr. Parish says I can keep working with her while I'm in school."

Kate nods. "Okay."

Alexis twists her hands under the table and shoots a look to her father. He's taking a sip of his wine, totally leaving it up to her.

How is she supposed to ask this?

"I wanted you to hear it from me first," Alexis says finally.

Kate glances over at Alexis's father too, then back to her. "Well. Thank you?"

Okay. So. This is awkward. "I - you're okay with that?"

"Okay with what?" Kate has both hands on top of the table. "With you working?"

"At the morgue."

"What does it have to do with me?"

Alexis catches her breath at that, blinks.

"No, sorry," Kate says quickly, a tendon showing in her forehead. "I'm sorry. That sounds - that isn't what I meant. Um. Thank you for telling me. And thank you for being concerned about how I feel, but Alexis, I'm not - it's not up to me to tell you what to do."

Alexis feels the grin snake across her face because first her father and now Kate.

"Well, you do give good advice," Alexis says slowly. "But I meant more - I don't want to upset you by working with the medical examiner's office."

"Oh," Kate says quickly. "Because of me quitting."

Alexis nods.

"I don't mind. I don't mind at all. And - that's thoughtful of you, Alexis, but this is your life. Your choice. Oh, unless your Dad. . ." She trails off and glances to Alexis's father.

"He's fine with it," Alexis says, smiling at them. "You're both fine with it. Good."

Kate nods back.

Alexis grins and picks up her plate, moves to take it to the sink. "I'm going to bed. I have to be there at 6 tomorrow. Good night, guys."

* * *

"Can I stay tonight?" she asks him softly, standing in the doorway of his loft right before she meant to go.

She really did. She meant to go.

He blinks in surprise but reaches out and tugs her into him, shutting the door as she comes.

"Do you need to ask?"

"I think so," she says quietly. "Now."

"You can stay as long as you like-"

She lifts her head and sees him biting back his words. For her. Because of her. She doesn't want that. The time for waiting, for holding themselves back from each other is over. "Don't stop there."

"Well, we just had a fight about me thinking I own you, Kate, so-"

"Being sweet isn't the same."

"Really?" he huffs into her neck. "Feels exactly the same."

"Well. I'm a handful. You knew that."

He laughs again and hugs her a little harder. She nudges her nose against his and kisses his cheek, slides her hands around his waist.

"I did, yeah. All that leaping tall buildings, weight of the world stuff."

"Sucks, doesn't it?" she smiles against him. His hand moves up and down her back, slowly, and she shifts a little closer to him.

"No, Kate, doesn't suck. Because sometimes when I act like an idiot, you think it's sweet. And since I act like an idiot a lot, that means there are lots of chances-"

She squeezes his waist to shut him up. "You really don't, you know. You're much smarter than you look."

He does laugh at that, brushes his mouth against her forehead. "Well, thanks?"

"And right about now, a smart man would take me to bed, Castle."

He grins at her, slides his hand around to hers. "Let me prove how smart I can be."


	73. 75: Thursday

**75**

* * *

She wakes early that morning; she can tell from the too-faint light that barely glows under the curtains, doesn't even reach the hardwood floors. Castle is sound asleep, breathing deeply next to her, a steady, hypnotic rhythm that somehow fails to pull her back into slumber.

Her body is awake, she realizes as she blinks slowly. She feels fresh, rested, ready. But she doesn't feel the urge to move that so often compels her to slide out of bed, start the day, and she curls onto her side, luxuriating in that slow, warm, lazy feeling.

Castle's face is wrinkled, mashed into the pillow. The one eyebrow she can see is knit, that cute little frown he wears sometimes when he dreams. Kate lifts a hand, smoothes her fingertip along the straight line, the soft hairs.

He makes a small sound and she drops her fingers, unwilling to rouse him; she will have to watch without touching, keep her hands to herself.

Not as easy as it sounds. Not with Rick Castle, anyway.

She snuggles both hands under her pillow, stretches her legs slowly, reveling in the quiet delight that has spread through her, the happiness that she cannot contain, that just leaks out.

Funny, how three days ago it was waking alone in her own bed that brought her that same feeling of peace, of contentment. Uh. Her dad is right. There really is no secret recipe, is there?

There's only being together, in the moment. And seeing what happens. Ha, and now she sounds like one of those cheap wisdom books. Wonderful.

Kate isn't sure how long she lays there, lounging in his bed, her eyes on his sleeping form; when she finally cranes her neck to glance at the alarm clock, it's already 7:30.

Time to get up, get dressed. Dr. Burke is seeing her early today, offered to squeeze her in before his first patient - it was either that, or waiting two weeks. She's so grateful for his working her in.

She carefully peels away the sheets, sits up in bed, holds her breath. Castle grunts and rolls, landing flat on his back; a blue eye peers open at her. Damn.

She'll never understand how he can sleep so soundly and yet startle awake at her lightest move, no matter the amount of precaution she takes. What is it - the shift of her weight on the mattress, his heightened awareness of her? She's got to figure it out.

"You leaving?" he slurs, his voice heavy with sleep.

But there's no accusation, no disappointment in his tone. Just a question. A simple question. She leans in and rewards him with a brush of her lips, her fingers unconsciously curling at his jaw.

"Appointment with Burke," she murmurs. "Go back to sleep, Rick."

One, two slow blinks, and he obeys, turning back onto his side with a long sigh. Fading off already, no doubt. She wonders if he'll remember this later.

Kate lets her fingers trace the curve of his shoulder, presses a kiss there, to the warm, soft skin, and moves off the bed.

Burke is doing her a favor; she's certainly not planning on being late.

* * *

"How do you feel about not being a cop anymore, Kate?"

She doesn't startle, but she does turn back to face him, her eyes leaving the window and the two birds fighting for a breadcrumb outside.

Dr. Burke has a knack for asking the question she's not expecting.

Kate opens her mouth to say that she's fine, that she doesn't miss it so much, even the precinct - but she pauses. Gives herself time to consider.

Her psychologist waits her out patiently, his head tilted, his brown eyes as warm and peaceful as always. It used to irritate her, his calm, his self-control; especially in the beginning, when she couldn't seem to find hers, when her voice broke on every sentence.

But not anymore.

"I guess," she says slowly, gathering a knee to her chest, resting her back against the comfortable chair. "Part of me misses it. I-" she hesitates, lets her fingers dance alongside her shin, struck by how true that is, how well she's kept it even from herself. "I miss the purpose, the feeling of being useful, of - doing something _good. _And...the challenge, too." She raises her eyes, finds Burke's. "Making sense of things, solving the enigma. I loved that."

"You don't have to use the past tense," he points out gently.

Kate lets out a dry little laugh, shakes her head. "I don't want to go back." That, at least, is clear to her. She doesn't; she won't.

"You don't want to go back," Burke repeats, his voice remarkably empty of suggestion. "You've told me about this activity you've found, reading and reviewing those manuscripts. Does that satisfy you, Kate? Give you that same sense of challenge?"

She grits her teeth, looks away at the window again. The birds are gone.

"No," she admits. "It's not - it's not the same. But I like it. I do."

"Enough to keep doing it for the rest of your life?"

Kate sighs. Deep down, she knows this. She's known. Reading and reviewing manuscripts is interesting, fun; it makes her feel like her opinion is valuable. But it's only temporary. Could only ever be temporary.

"No," she acknowledges, looking at her psychologist. "Not - I need more." Damn it, she does. She does. Why can't this job be enough? Why can't Castle be enough?

"Kate," Burke says softly, as if he can read her mind. "There's nothing wrong with needing more. As long as you admit it, and give yourself the means to go after it. You mentioned a few weeks back that a colleague of yours said something about how you might get your old job back, if you asked for it?"

"I don't _want it back_," she snaps, immediately annoyed at herself for that. But she needs the man to _understand_ - she's past the 12th. Over it. She's not going back.

She almost died, and for what?

No. No. She's not going back.

_She can't do that to him._

"Alright," he says, unwaveringly serene. "Then you need to look for a job that will fulfill you, the way being a detective did. It's obvious that you need that sense of accomplishment in your life, Kate. And you know it."

She parts her lips to answer, but the words ring true; she can't deny them. If she can't be a detective, if she doesn't want to work in publishing, then she needs to find something else.

Something she will love, something she will pour her soul into.

She gives a slow nod, finds her mouth curling into a smirk. "And I thought I was here to talk about my relationship with Castle," she jokes half-heartedly.

"Do you _want _to talk about it?"

Ugh, that way he has of making everything a question. She presses her lips together, pushes her hair back with her free hand. She doesn't know anymore.

"Let me ask you something," Burke says. "When did you last take time away from work? And by time, I mean more than a week."

Kate stares at him, shocked that he needs to ask. Somehow, he understands what she's not saying. "The months you spent healing from that bullet wound don't count," he points out, lifting an eyebrow. "I mean before that."

Oh. Well.

"I'm not sure," she concedes reluctantly.

"And when was the last time you spent more than a week with someone else, being together 24/7? It doesn't have to be a boyfriend - can be a vacation with one of your friends, your father, any one."

She-

Uh. She and Josh didn't actually spend that much time alone together, did they? And before that... Will? Yeah, probably. Kate never takes holidays unless someone else makes her. Jeez.

Workaholic. Castle was right on that one.

"It's been a while," she answers, stunned. "It - yeah. Wow. Couple years, at least."

And when she _did _take a vacation, she hardly ever spent all of it with someone else. She always saved a few days for herself, or she was in a separate hotel room, or there were excursions she did alone.

"See?" Burke smiles. "You and Rick were in Belize for _three weeks_, Kate. I don't think you should be worried about your relationship. I think you should be thrilled that you two didn't kill each other."

A surprised laugh rolls out of her, but she can tell he's serious despite the spark in his eyes, and relief hits her, envelops her like a wave.

Oh, she needed to hear that.

"Okay," she breathes out, dizzy with gratitude. "Thank you."

Burke gets to his feet, his way to signal that their time is up, and she mirrors him, reaches for her jacket.

"I'm glad you came to me," he tells her as he walks her to the door. "But you seem to be doing well. Dealing with your own issues. I'm proud of you, Kate."

Her voice catches in her throat, like she's a silly ten-year-old being congratulated by her teacher, and she can only manage a strained smile in response.

He seems to understand, anyway.


	74. 76: Friday

**76**

* * *

Castle manages to catch his daughter right as she's slipping out of the apartment.

"Hey, what's on schedule today?" he asks, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"There's an honors philosophy class at 8, Dad. I gotta go," she says, but she rocks forward and kisses his cheek.

"Okay. You have a break for lunch?"

"Oh," she winces. "A group of us is eating together in the student center after our 10:45 orientation."

"Okay," he says, struggles to keep the disappointment off his face.

It must not work because Alexis leans in again and hugs him tightly. "Dad-"

"Just haven't seen a whole lot of you this week. Dinner the other night and that's it. Wanted to make sure everything was going okay."

"I love Columbia. It's amazing. It's so - there's so much, Dad. The classes are intense and the people are just - so hungry. Everyone's there to learn, to really know, to explore, to figure things out. It's the best - it's everything I wanted."

He nods and sees she's mentally halfway out the door and in her next summer experience class. He lets go of her shoulders. "Go on then, Alexis. Have fun."

"Yeah," she breathes and flashes him a smile. "Yeah, love you, Dad."

"Bye, pumpkin," he says, but he's already talking to the back of her head as she leaves.

* * *

He's just emailed the last chapter to his editor - entirely late, of course - when his phone rings. Castle answers it without looking closely, distracted by that final scene. He can't quite make it work, knows there's something off- "Castle."

"Hey there."

"Hey, Beckett," he grins and leans back in his office chair. "What's up?"

"You have lunch yet?"

"Actually, no. Haven't."

"Want to meet me at Gene's Place?"

"Mm, pancakes."

"And an omelette."

"Perfect," he says and stands up from his desk in search of pants. He's still in his boxers, hasn't even showered. "When?"

"Thirty minutes."

"See you there."

* * *

Kate's already got a table when Castle arrives at the diner; he snakes his way through the clusters of people and sinks down into the booth across from her. She tilts her head and laces her fingers together, elbows on the table, watching him.

"What?" he asks, a hand to his chest as he glances down to make sure he hasn't missed any buttons.

"You haven't showered, have you?" she says, a trembling laugh threading through her words.

"I. . .may not have," he answers.

Kate leans over and strokes her fingers through his hair, grinning at him, does it again. "Won't lay down," she sighs, shaking her head. She switches directions and rakes his hair forward, makes it hang in his eyes.

He's a little too stunned to speak, and now he's got a fringe of bangs framing his vision of her, and she's laughing at him.

"Anyway, Alexis texted me-"

"What?" he says, startled out of his voicelessness. "She texted you?"

"She said maybe you might want company for lunch. Kinda pathetic, Castle. Getting your daughter to set up your social calendar."

He half-shrugs through the warm fuzzy feelings spreading in his chest at the thought of his daughter and Kate conspiring to keep him from being lonely today. "Worked, didn't it? Won't say no to a little help."

"Need all the help you can get," Kate says, eyes laughing but her hand curling around his forearm and squeezing.

He shakes his head to rid himself of the annoying hang of his hair, but she makes a noise and scratches her nails lightly on his arm.

"Don't do that. Your hair, Castle-" And she keeps laughing at him, her thumb on his wrist bone.

He shakes his head again and uses his free hand to rake his fingers through his hair, grinning when she practically barks with laughter.

And then Kate is getting out of the booth and sliding into the seat with him, nudging him over with her hip, both hands reaching out to comb through his hair. Her palms cradle his cheeks, fingers scratching, and then she darts in and presses a kiss against his lips.

"I'm pretty sure you just made it worse," he mutters, but he brushes his cheek against hers.

She arches back a little, studying his hair, one of her hands landing hotly on his thigh. "Nope. Looks like you just slid out of bed. Sexy."

And before he can say anything to that, the waitress interrupts them.

* * *

Outside the diner, they stand on the sidewalk, Castle with a hand on his stomach, moaning.

"I ate too much."

"Yes you did," she laughs, reaching out for his hand. "Wanna walk?"

"No, woman. Did you not hear me? I ate too much," he groans. But he takes her hand and lets her pull him down the sidewalk.

"Walk a little ways with me, and then I'll let you catch a cab."

"Fine, fine," he sighs. And even though the pancakes and omelette and hash browns are sitting heavy in his stomach, he's happy to be walking with her, side by side, with her hand freely offered. "How was therapy yesterday?"

"Pretty good, actually."

He wants to remark about how happy she looks, but that might defeat the purpose. Instead he just walks with her, makes her go slowly, and lets her drop his hand when she reaches up to scrape her hair back.

"Hot," he says inanely.

"It is. We need rain."

He laughs. "I meant you."

She shoots him a look, amused and indulgent too, and then she reclaims his hand, their palms loose.

"You write today?" she asks.

"Yeah, actually. I managed to get the last of it done. All that's left are the edits."

"How long does that take?"

"About a week, probably."

"So, I need to stay away for a week?" she says, and is she sighing? Is she really_ pouting_ at him?

"I don't want you to stay away."

"I don't want to get a phone call from Gina."

He startles and glances at her. "Gina called you?"

She laughs, sparkling and rich in the humid summer afternoon. "That once. A few years ago. Just don't want a repeat."

He shivers. "Me either. That's like my worst nightmare."

"Mine too," she murmurs, giving him a wink.

Her fingers lace with his then, and she stops him on the corner. "Paths diverge here, Castle."

"No," he sighs. "I'll walk you home, now that I'm walking."

She grins and lifts on her toes to kiss him, swift and sure, and then slides back down. She's wearing those flat shoes again, the ones that make their heights uneven, and for some reason, feeling her lean against him for balance when they kiss - it makes his heart beat too fast.

She rubs her fingers over his mouth, nudges him with her hip.

"You coming?"


	75. 77: Saturday

**77**

* * *

He's lined up the shells from Belize on his bathroom counter, smallest to largest, and Kate taps her finger along them. She scoops up the black one with its curved pink rainbow inside, studying the layers again, the way it looks like it would peel back, one at a time, flakes of iridescent skin. Kate slides it into her pocket and finishes washing her hands, comes back out to him in the study.

"Hey," she murmurs, sinking down onto his black leather couch, watching him. "Took a shell."

It takes a moment, but then he lifts his head. "Hey. That's okay."

And then he's pulled out by the undertow of his novel again. She watches for a few minutes, pulling the shell out of her pocket and rubbing it with her finger, and just when she's about to leave him to it, he stops and looks up at her again.

"Sorry. I can do this later."

"Edits?"

He nods and shuts his laptop, stands up and comes around the desk to sit beside her, plopping down with a huff of breath. She gets jostled, has to close her hand around the black shell, but she leans into him, resting on his shoulder.

She is so tired. She didn't get a lot of sleep - dreams or caffeine buzz or something - and now today she feels lethargic, the effort not worth the reward. It takes too much to be here, to do this, to be careful, but she doesn't want to be anywhere else either. Hopefully she doesn't ruin things just because she's worn out.

His arm curls up and his fingers glance off her cheek; he says nothing, and that's a first for him.

She sighs out and turns her head a little, pressed closer to him, and feels her eyes close.

* * *

She drools on him.

Castle stays rigidly still for the first thirty minutes, then slowly eases back against the arm of the couch, bringing her with him. He moves carefully, turtle-like, to keep from waking her up, slides his legs up on the couch and drapes her over his chest. He takes the shell out of her fingers and slides it into the back pocket of her jeans.

She's out, truly out. He'd never get away with a move like that if she was just dozing.

He plays with her hair, drawing it back from her cheek and arranging it in a rope along her spine. He twirls it, making a loose knot at her neck, and then unwinds it and cards his fingers through the soft, wavy strands.

Her hair is thick but soft and fine, and the blonde streaks have started to grow out, leaving more of that rich cherry rather than the mahogany that catches the sunlight. She's always been a dark beauty, but the gradual appearance of the blonde or light brown this year - it softened her face, her skin in a way that surprised him. Like she was more Kate and less Beckett.

He couldn't care less what color her hair is, how she styles it, because it all looks good. But he fell in love with the dark wisps around her temples, the choppy line of it at her shoulders, the way she could pull it back on formal occasions and the curls would be in a knotted clutch at her neck.

Castle lays his hand heavily on her upper back, his thumb skimming her nape and angles his jaw to kiss her forehead.

Still she sleeps.

* * *

She wakes violently and falls off the couch, grunting with the impact of her knee and shoulder hitting the floor. Castle apparently tried to catch her, but he hisses and jerks his arm out from under her in the next moment.

Kate sits up, blinking at the time, scrapes her hair back, feeling stupid and heavy with her mid-day nap. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he pants, lying on his back on the couch, his arm drawn up to his chest. "You okay? You fell right off me."

She nods and gets to her knees, wincing, then sits down by his hip. "You're not okay. Did I bend your arm back?"

"Little bit."

Kate draws her fingers up his forearm, bites her bottom lip. "Sorry-"

"Not your fault. Stupid of me to try and grab you." He slowly sits up, struggling, his arm against his chest, and Kate reaches out and puts a hand at his back, helping him up.

"Can you put your arm down?" She smooths her fingers over his bicep, at his elbow, prodding. "See if you can-"

"It's not broken," he says and straightens his arm. She sees the flash across his face, pain or frustration, and she cradles his elbow between her palms, leans over to kiss him softly.

His fingers curl at her abdomen, stroking, and she pulls back to look him in the eyes. "Sure it's okay?"

"Just a jolt. You're heavy."

She smirks at him, seeing the laughter suppressed in his face. "Don't try catching me next time, if it's such a strain for you."

He flicks her a grin, but his fingers stroke along her waist. "What made you fall off the couch?"

"Dream I think," she answers, shrugging at him. "It's late. Want to go get dinner, walk me home after?"

"Yeah. But I can - stay over," he says hesitantly, his hand drawing around her hip and resting there.

"Yeah?" she says, the faint flutter of her heart waking up in her chest. "I'd like that."

He grins back at her. "Alexis has this group camp out thing with her team from the Columbia Summer Experience. She won't be back until Sunday morning."

Kate grins and slides a hand from his elbow, up his arm, to his neck. She kisses him again, lightly, nudging his nose with hers until he draws her into an embrace.

"Let's go eat, Kate."

* * *

She reaches for the check after dinner - gourmet pizza at an Italian place they've gone to before - and he doesn't make a sound. Her movements aren't self-conscious; she barely seems to register what she's doing.

They fell into a rhythm of alternating who paid when they were in Belize, but everything there was cheaper, and he let it go because he was worried that she'd have issues with him spending so much on their vacation in the first place. He did think, however, it'd go away when they got back.

But now it's a thing. Evidently.

"Hey, can you leave the tip?" she says, putting her card into the black holder with the bill. "I don't have any cash on me."

He grins and eases to one side, digs into his back pocket for his wallet. He pulls out two fives and folds them, slides them under his glass. "Got it."

"Thanks," she says, smiling at him. Their waitress comes around and takes the check, refills Castle's tea, and heads back to the register.

"Hey, it's not too late. Want to duck into that theatre down the street?" he says, shoving his wallet back into his pocket. "They have a black and white retrospective running all summer."

Kate sips at her water, brushes condensation down with her thumb. "Actually, yeah. Good idea. I think it was "The Third Man." I love that movie. And speaking of theatre-"

"Yeah?"

"Martha mentioned yesterday that you have - or that you can get - seats to Shakespeare in the Park?"

He rocks back in the booth, grinning at her. "Yeah."

"She said you guys are Park Supporters - like you donate and it helps underwrite the cost of it every year."

"Yeah," he nods, thrilled that there's something he can get for her, give her, that she's actually asking for, that she's willing to use his connections for. True, Shakespeare in the Park is free, but it's incredibly difficult to get tickets - waiting in line all night and the next day, or waiting in the virtual line and checking in every few hours. "I can get us tickets. Do you want to go?"

"They're starting _Into the Woods_ this week. And yeah - yeah, I do."

"Oh, that's not Shakespeare."

She shakes her head. "That was in June. I didn't think of it, really. Your mother did."

"Okay. I'll get us tickets. When?"

She breaks into a smile, shrugging. "Whenever. My schedule opened up quite a bit recently."

He laughs at that and the waitress brings back Kate's card with the receipt for her to sign. He watches her for a moment, the flourish of her name on the line, and then he stands up with her, reaching out to take her hand.

Kate's at his side as they exit the restaurant, and suddenly she speaks up. "Can - well, it was Martha's idea - so how about we get four tickets? Maybe Alexis will want to go?"

"Yeah," he says to that. She's so relaxed about all of this - hanging out with him today, falling asleep curled up next to him, paying for dinner, inviting herself to the play with his family - and it is seriously throwing him for a loop. He never expected- "That should be fun. Even if it is with my mother."

"I just think she'd be amusing at a theatre production."

Castle laughs at that and tugs her down the street. "Or something."

"Trying to be diplomatic here," she murmurs.

And then she brings their joined hands up between them, presses her lips to his knuckles.

"I do love you, you know," she sighs. "And your family."

He can only stare at her, words abandoning him.


	76. 78: Sunday

**78**

* * *

"Don't let me fall back to sleep," he murmurs.

Right before he falls back to sleep.

And Kate is feeling just selfish enough to let him, his weight heavy across her legs as his nose nuzzles her inside thigh, his mouth on her shorts, his breathing deep and regular.

She skims her fingers over the side of his face; he lies in her bed with his arms wrapped around her waist as she sits against the headboard. He was supposed to go home an hour ago, see his daughter, make her breakfast, catch up on the summer experience weekend.

It's only seven though; he has time. She wants this quiet Castle all to herself for a little bit longer.

She stays half-reclined in her bed, her hips cradling his head, her knees bracketing his waist. His breath is soft and warm, his body dense with early morning sleep; his arms encircling her feel loose, keeping her here but not leaving her unable to escape.

Only why would she?

Kate strokes her fingertips along his cheekbone, the line of his jaw, tripping over his mouth to the flare of his nose and then the ridge of his brow. His hair is spiky and hanging over his forehead, that sexy, mussed look that she's come to find irresistible.

It's so much easier to love him when he's asleep.

She gives him an hour - she gives herself an hour of silently loving him, alone in her adoration - and then she wakes him up.

* * *

She unboxes the computer he bought for her and sets it up; it takes only fifteen minutes. Whenever it got delivered, however it got here, there's also an external hard drive with it. She connects it to the computer, clicks it open when it mounts, and her mouth drops open when she sees her files, her music, her _photos_, all right there.

He had her destroyed computer recovered. The files at least. It must have - expensive, so very expensive, but here's everything.

She emails him _found the hard drive; you did good, Castle_ and then she checks her finances online.

Not as bad as she feared. She's already gotten a check from the publishing house she's reading for, paltry though it may be, and she saved enough in her checking to be absent from work for three months.

Her savings it pretty much shot - has been since _she_ got shot - but it's not going to ruin her if she still doesn't have a real job by the end of August. She'll manage; she'll stop going out to eat every day, force Castle to cook her dinner instead.

Kate smirks to herself and puts her computer to sleep, turns in the desk chair to survey her apartment.

So much ruined, violated-

Her phone vibrates with a text and she scoops it off the desk, thumbing it on.

_I try. _

Surprisingly succinct for the writer. Her lips lift in a smile and Kate ignores the bare furnishings of her apartment in favor of heading back to her bedroom. She'll go for a run.

Just to get out of the house for a while.

* * *

Kate is peeling the sports bra from her body when she gets in the shower, so she doesn't notice at first. It's only when she steps under the spray and kicks something across the tile that she glances down.

And laughs.

Castle has left that black seashell in the shower stall, and then he's apparently left another one as well, so that there are two little shells at her feet.

She stoops down and scoops them up, the black one now mated with a pink one that's larger and little more flourished, the two oddly paired but a match.

Kate puts both shells on the shelf, keeps her eyes on them even as she washes her hair and soaps her body, rinsing the suds quickly. When she gets out, she swipes at her feet with a towel, runs it up her legs, across her back before wrapping it around her torso.

She finds her phone and texts him: _His and her seashells?_

* * *

When she shows up at his place for dinner - he promised to cook so they could stay in - Alexis is the one who opens the door.

"Hey, Kate," she says.

"Hey. How was Columbia?" Kate asks, moving inside and dropping her bag in the entryway.

"It was awesome," Alexis laughs a little. "But Dad says I'm supposed to give you this?" Alexis holds up her hand and slowly uncurls her fist.

Another shell. This one with fiery orange ribbons in its spiral.

Kate bites her bottom lip and takes it from the young woman.

Now there are three.


	77. 79: Monday

**79**

* * *

So, Castle got them tickets. Reserved seats, actually, and good seats too: not in the front row, but close, he said.

Kate's not usually one for skipping lines, but it's not exactly skipping - not when he's been donating money to The Public Theater for years (he wouldn't tell her how long, but Martha's knowing look seemed to hint at a considerable number). And besides, today has been so very hot; there's no way she would have stood in line for hours on end.

The evening's still warm, although there's a breeze rocking the leaves above their heads that makes it almost enjoyable to walk through Central Park. Kate can still feel remnants of the day's heat in the way her silk top clings to her skin, the moisture that gathers at the back of her knees just from walking, but the cool, delicious breath of air that tangles in her hair, dances against her neck, makes up for it.

Castle's walking ahead of her, talking to Alexis, trying to convince her to come see the latest Disney movie with him. Unsuccessfully, from what she can tell. Apparently a bunch of Alexis's friends went to see it, thought it wasn't that great; the young woman seems rather set against it.

Oh, jeez. He's going to make Kate see it, isn't he? Payback for when she dragged him to the theater to see _Magic Mike._ Ah, well. She won't tell him, but he could do much worse than a Disney movie.

"Lovely evening, isn't it?" Martha says warmly next to her, interrupting her thoughts.

The actress has been walking alongside Beckett, surprisingly quietly, now that Kate thinks about it. She smiles at Castle's mother. "Yeah, it's much nicer now. I feel for the poor people who had to stand in line, though."

"Ah, well. I think it's an experience, you know? Something to do with your friends, when you're young or - a little less young," Martha says playfully, her eyes bright. "And the performances are always worth it, in my experience."

"Oh, that's right," Kate says, suddenly reminded of the fact. "Castle said you starred in one of the plays yourself, a few years back?"

Martha has an indulgent, graceful little smile, a flick of her hand as if to say, _it was nothing. _But there's pleasure on her face when she answers, "More than a few years, dear, let's not kid ourselves. But yes, I did play Beatrice in _Much Ado About Nothing, _and it was incredibly fun. Well, the director was a complete pain in the ass, and we had to cancel a few shows because of the rain, but still. It was memorable."

Kate imagines a younger Martha, spirited and flamboyant; she must have made a striking Beatrice. "What was it like?" she asks curiously. "Was it very different from playing on Broadway?"

Her companion hums thoughtfully, tilts her head as she answers. "Not different exactly, but I guess it was a lot less stressful, you know, due to the fact that it was free and organized by the city and all that. We didn't have to worry about filling the room; we just - wanted to pull out the best show that we could. It was very exciting," Martha concludes with a lift of her eyebrows that is very Castle-like.

Although she knows a little about Martha's career, Beckett has never really had a chance to talk theatre with the actress before. And now, she just - she wants to hear more. Before she can come up with a good question, however, Rick's mother is already speaking again.

"You know, it's funny. I have been asked, a few times, to pinpoint a specific production or play that holds special meaning to me, that I remember more fondly than others, but I... I can never think of one. Most of them have been wonderful, very different experiences, and - the world of the theatre is such a unique one. The people you work with, the crew, the actors, everybody - they just become your family for the duration of the show. There's no other way to describe it. And it's very brief, but so intense, and - yes, there've been families that I liked better than others, I guess, but it's...impossible to single one out."

Kate remains silent for a moment, struck by the emotion in Martha's voice, the passion underneath it. How lucky the older woman has been, being able to do a job she loves that much. It's not just luck of course, but determination too, the strength to never give up.

The word 'family' echoes through her, brings with it images of Ryan, Lanie, Esposito, Castle - and yes, yes, Roy Montgomery too, whatever he might have done.

The 12th has been her home for so long.

"I know what you mean," she says at last, her voice soft. Her eyes meet Martha's and the woman smiles, a little wistful, too knowing. She takes Kate's hand, her palm warm but not clammy, and squeezes it for a second before she lets go.

"I know you do, darling."

* * *

They get to the theater about twenty minutes early. The woman on the phone told Castle there was no need to be there before that; and indeed they get seated fairly quickly, only have to stand in line for a couple minutes.

He's rather impressed with the organization.

He sits down, expecting his daughter to take the seat next to him, but she lets Kate go first, gives him a crooked little smile as she settles on the other side of Beckett. Uh. Okay. He feels a vague sense of abandonment, but amusement wins out.

And of course, it's hard to be anything but happy when he's got Kate's arm brushing against his, their hips almost kissing, the soft weight of her body canting towards his.

She watches the crowd and he just watches her, the relaxed, open lines of her face, the interest playing in her beautiful eyes as she spies on a family that sits in the row just in front of them, the dad goofing around to make his children laugh.

Kate likes people.

Yeah, she's independent, and she likes her time alone; she doesn't _need_ people around like he does. Obviously not. But still - she likes them. It's something they have in common.

It's one of the reasons she was such a great detective, too, because she goes out of her way to understand the human heart, the reasons behind the smallest crime. Because everyone, even the lowest of criminals, is worthy of her interest, of her comprehension.

Castle reaches for the hand that rests on the edge of her chair, laces their fingers together for a second or two, then makes himself let go. She turns a soft smile to him, pursuing his pinky with hers.

"This was a good idea, Castle," she tells him, bright-eyed and gorgeous.

He leans in, presses a firm kiss to her mouth, tasting some of that chocolate ice-cream she had for dessert. "Family night," he says when they part, lingering at her cheek.

She takes a long breath, her lashes fluttering, but she doesn't look overwhelmed, or scared, just-

happy.

"Family night," she repeats, and the lights go out.

* * *

The play is fabulous.

The way it's staged, for one: as its name implies, the action of _Into The Woods_ is mostly located in a forest - with occasional scenes inside fairy tale houses - but the way they've used the natural setting, the Central Park clearing and trees, is simply brilliant.

And the story itself is well done. When she read on the booklet that it was a clever intertwining of different fairy tales, Kate was afraid it might be a terribly cheesy musical, with songs about love and magic and finding each other - but it's not.

It's witty, and hilarious, and she enjoys the message woven into the whole play - that _happy ever after_ is an illusion, a child's dream, that happiness is something you have to work at. Something that can be found where you least expect it.

Oh, jeez. And the princes.

The two supposedly charming princes are not charming at all - they're pompous, self-absorbed morons, and the actors are doing an _amazing _job of it. By the end of the first act, every one of their appearances on stage is punctuated by irrepressible laughter from both Alexis and Kate (seriously, when the shorter one pulled out a compact mirror to check his hair? Beckett thought she was going to _die_).

Yeah. This is good. Really good.

And she didn't even know she liked musicals.

* * *

During the intermission, Castle volunteers to go and get everyone something to drink. Kate refuses the offer with a smile, saying she's not thirsty, but Alexis asks him for a Coke, and his mother - who is little more than a vibrating, humming bubble of energy by this point, obviously thrilled with the play - decides to go with him.

She links her arm with his and he lets her, although he does glance back at Kate and Alexis for moral support. But they're not even looking at him; they're already deep in conversation, Beckett laughing at something his daughter said, and his heart beats faster as his mother tugs him forward.

Family.

Kate is part of his family now.

The feeling is too good, too amazing for words.

The line for the refreshments is growing fast, but they manage to get a decent spot, and Martha launches into a breathless monologue about the actors, the direction, the costumes, and isn't it the most beautiful production of _Into The Woods_ he's ever seen, really, Richard.

(He's fairly certain he's never seen another one before.)

It's interesting, though, because his mother is obviously an actress, and these are the things she notices first, the performers, the way the play is staged, the choices the director has had to make. And Rick?

All he sees is the story, the way - ah, who's the writer? Stephen Sondheim, right - the way Stephen Sondheim took these traditional fairly tales, put them together, made up one of his own, and delicately wove it into the mix.

It's fascinating, really. He likes the songs, too, because they're so well-written, sharp and funny, and the whole thing is just...very well done.

Yeah. He sort of wishes he'd written it.

"Richard, you're not listening to a word I say," his mother justly accuses, but there's a smile hovering at the corner of her mouth, and he grins back, wraps an arm around her shoulders so he can smack a loud kiss to her cheek.

She humphs, although she looks entirely too pleased for it to be believable. "Kate seems to like the play."

"She definitely does," he smiles, his partner's laughter still echoing in his ears, such a light, lovely sound. He would do anything, anything to make it happen again. Every day.

"She's got good taste," his mother drops innocently, and it sounds so much like a compliment that surely it must be some attack in disguise.

"Even though she likes my books?" he shoots back.

Martha laughs and pats his shoulder in that slightly patronizing way she has. "Now, now, Richard. Just because you're not Shakespeare, doesn't mean your books do not deserve to be appreciated, darling."

Wow. That is definitely the closest thing to a compliment that he's gotten from her in years.

"Why, thank you, mother. I'm - flattered?"

And strangely enough, he kinda is.

* * *

In the middle of the last song - at least, it feels like the last song - he finds his eyes drifting back toward Kate, irresistible. She's leaning forward in her seat, fingertips pressed to the curve of her mouth, as if to contain her emotion; she looks absolutely entranced.

Her eyes are wide and intent on the stage, glistening in the theatre lights, but she doesn't look like she's going to cry. More like she's...surprised.

Surprised that she's let the show get to her?

He's still pondering that when the song ends, the actors expertly posing in an impressive tableau. The lights go off and the audience suddenly find themselves in semi-darkness as clapping and cheering erupts, the whole wooden structure vibrating with it.

Castle does his fair share of clapping, even whistles a couple times, and when he can no longer feel his hands, he leans in and sneaks a couple fingers around Kate's waist, making her slant towards him.

She's still applauding, won't stop for him, it seems, but she does turn her head into him, and finds his lips. He kisses her slowly, relishing the warmth, the familiar taste of her mouth, his blood racing in his veins because of tonight, the play, Kate, the continued ovation.

All of it.

When he abandons her lips, he feels her hands curling at his shoulders, her forehead resting at his chin; and he kisses the wisps of dark hair as she sways against him.

"That was so good," she murmurs, and he hears it in her voice, that little girl thrill that he absolutely adores, makes him feel so proud when he manages to put it there.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she whispers, meeting his mouth again. "So good, Castle."

He closes his eyes, so humbled, thankful, the silk of her hair, of her skin at his palm.

Grateful he gets to share these moments with her.


	78. 80: Tuesday

80

* * *

Kate rolls over and yawns, glances at her clock.

Whoa.

She slept in.

Rubbing her face, she stumbles from bed, realizing that Castle is beginning to creep into everything - not just sleeping in, but even this graceless fall out of her own bed, like she's drugged and blinded by the sunlight.

She swipes her phone from her bedside table and checks the alarm. Huh. Looks like _someone_ turned it off.

She texts him, leaving her phone on the counter next to the sink as she goes to the bathroom and then washes her hands. Castle messages her back. Kate dries off her hands and checks.

_Guess that was me - accident I swear. Look how late you slept. It's almost nine. (In case you couldn't tell, I'm rolling my eyes at you and my tone is completely facetious.)_

Kate laughs at that, smiling because if Castle's rolling his eyes, then she's rubbing off on him too.

* * *

Castle meets Kate at Remy's - his suggestion - in the hopes that they'll see some of her old crowd. He's worried about her lately: her lack of income, yeah, and her avoidance in talking about it, but more than that. He's worried about her total disconnect to all the people that used to be her support system.

So he texts Lanie and happens to mention where they'll be.

They've already ordered, just veggie burgers and sweet potato fries, and Kate's fiddling with her earring, staring out the window with a faint smile on her face when Castle sees Lanie hustle inside the diner.

Esposito is right behind her.

"Hey, look at that," he says, knowing his surprise sounds forced.

Kate snaps her head to the front door and her whole face lights up. Wow.

"Esposito and Lanie," she says, standing up and heading for the medical examiner and her old partner.

It's like a punch in the gut, to see how much she needed this. How did he not do this sooner? Yesterday at the theatre only reaffirmed something he already knew - that Kate likes people - but he just didn't make the connection.

She needs her family too.

* * *

He and Kate sit on one side of the booth and Esposito and Lanie have the other. They exchange stories about their respective vacations, but Castle is surprised that the two are still not together. Back to being friends at least.

Huh. Maybe friends with benefits?

Jeez, if Kate did that to him, he'd-

Her hand slides over his knee and he freezes, his eyes on Esposito as the man tells a story about some salsa dancing he and Lanie did. Kate's fingers piano over his patella, almost like she doesn't even know she's doing it. Kind of proprietary.

Castle shifts and draws his arm over her shoulders, a little test, and instead of the warning squeeze or the slap to his chest that he expected, she leans into him, settling in.

Her shoulder is at his upper ribs and her palm comes hotly to his inside thigh; she turns her head and gives him a brilliant smile, leans in to kiss his cheek.

As if-

As if it happens every day. (Okay, well it does. Now it does. But-)

Lanie squeals and claps her hands, leaning in. "You guys are so cute!"

Oh jeez.

"Hard-won," Kate says, laughing a little, and she's looking at him again and then coming in close, very close - _whoa, Kate, what are you doing?_ - and pressing her mouth to his, slowly, lingering, hot and tender at the same time.

"Oh, you guys are just too much."

"Ug. I think I threw up a little in my mouth."

* * *

Castle is laughing at her but she shoves him away and sets up the three little shells on his bedside table.

"No, no, sorry. It's cute. It really is. And we're cute, Lanie says."

"How did that happen?" she mutters, elbowing him aside as he darts forward to snatch up her seashells. "Castle. Don't mess them up."

"Oh, you know what?" he says, moving away from her, his hand trailing at her waist as he heads into his study.

"Where are you going?" She didn't have a bag; she's got enough stuff here that she doesn't need to worry about it. But she did go back to her place after lunch for her make-up and she just. . .slipped the shells in as well.

"Wait, I forgot something," he calls out, muffled by the bookshelves between them. Kate tosses her clothes over the chair beside the closet, wriggling her shoulders in her camisole, her bare feet padding across the hardwood floor as she goes to meet him.

"What are you - oof-"

Castle catches her as they collide, pushing her back towards their bedroom-

His.

Shit. His bedroom, Kate.

"Hey, look. I forgot this one," he says with a happy little grin, eyes sparkling as he holds up a seashell.

It's a small mollusk with a flared tail, a beautiful pearl pink that shimmers.

Castle takes her hand and smooths out her fingers, drops the shell in her palm with a flash of a smile. "That was silly of me. Only three."

She blinks down at the pink shell and tries to think, _scrambles_ to think of what it could mean, what it possibly could mean _other than a baby pink addition_, but she's got nothing.

"Uh. Castle. You trying to tell me you're pregnant?" she says, trying to laugh but not quite making it.

He does though, so hard that he rocks back onto the bed. His eyes crinkle up and his hands reach out for her, tug her on the waist to pull her down next to him.

"Not - it's not-" He laughs again and leans in to kiss her. "It's for my mother. The shell is for my mother, and I forgot it earlier - I was going to have her give it to you at the play, but I forgot and you thought-"

She shoves on his shoulders, narrowing her eyes at him as he flops back on the bed.

"I thought - because you gave me a baby pink shell, you idiot," she says, moving over him, straddling his chest, her palms on his shoulders, her face close to him, letting a growl escape her lips.

"My mother likes pink," he protests, laughing up at her, but she feels his hips lift a little even as his hands clench around her waist.

"You did that on purpose," she insists, leaning over him and slowly lowering her chest to his.

His grin widens. "No. But I like the results. You're hot when you're angry."

"I thought you said not when I was angry with you-"

"Yeah, well, you're not really angry with me, are you?" he murmurs, and then lifts his mouth to hers.

She breaks from his kiss with two fingers at his jaw, strokes along his lips as she looks down at him.

He gives another little grin, an eyebrow raised. "When you do knock me up, Beckett, be assured, I will be very clear about it."

She does laugh at that, softly, her forehead coming down to meet his, kissing him with a brush of her mouth to his.

She'll remember this. It's just the kind of gesture that would mean so much to him if she-

Whew. Okay.

Not right now, Kate.

She needs to get a _job_ before she thinks about any of that.


	79. 81: Wednesday

**81**

* * *

Kate is supposed to meet both of them in Central Park by the castle (oh he thinks he's so clever), but she finds Alexis there first.

"Hey," the girl says, wrapping both arms around Kate in a quick hug that nevertheless leaves Kate a little off-balance.

"Hey. Afternoon. Where have - what have you been up to?" She doesn't want to say, _You weren't home all day yesterday, and your father said you weren't there when he woke up this morning-_

"Oh Kate. It's been so awesome. I met all these great people at the summer experience thing, and we stayed up all night talking at this one girl's place-"

"Oh."

"She's like - I don't know, it's weird, but I think her parents are famous. She won't tell us their names, but I keep thinking I should know them, right?"

"Oh wow. Well. She could be a pretty good friend for you, I guess." Kate leans against the wall of Belvedere Castle and watches Alexis laugh in the bright sunlight.

"Dad's not that famous. But yeah - he gets talked about online, he's in the paper from time to time. Yeah. Her name's Star."

"Star?" Kate laughs, then presses her lips together. "Okay. Star."

"Yeah, I know, right?" Alexis bites her lip and shrugs. "So we got to choose our schedules early because we're in the honors college-"

"Oh, did-" Kate bites her tongue to keep it back. But Castle wanted - she remembers very clearly him saying he couldn't wait to help her decide between classes, and he's been thumbing through the catalogue for weeks. "What did you pick?"

"There are the requirements - College Algebra, World Lit, Western Civ, a really dumb gym class that's like Volleyball and Racquetball or something-"

"Don't they have tennis or-"

"Yeah, but our whole group decided to get a lot of those basics together. And that's what we all decided on. It'll be more fun to do it together."

As Alexis continues to ramble on about her classes and her 17 hours of credit this fall semester and the Gen Eds she's picked, Kate realizes-

_I don't want to go back to school._

Not at all. She is getting seriously depressed even thinking about having to get into a program and struggle through the higher level courses and worry about her GPA and do homework every night and write papers. That was her life when she was Alexis's age, but it's gone now - she can't go back.

Kate would never go to law school, but she won't do med school, pharmacy school - hell, she won't do cosmetology or technical training either.

She doesn't want to go to school.

What the hell is she going to do?

* * *

Castle is crushed when Alexis tells him she's already gotten her schedule for next semester. He opens his mouth but snaps it shut before his daughter can see how much it meant to him. It's stupid really.

But he feels Kate's hand close around his and then her body presses into his side. He glances over at her while they walk through Central Park, heading for the Met, and he sees the sympathy in her eyes. She's in a skirt and ballet flats again, these a sexy leopard print, and she has to lift up on her toes to kiss his jaw.

It helps. It really does. Takes the sting out of it. He's being a little dramatic, but he had these plans, expectations, for how Alexis would come to him and ask his advice, but she doesn't need him.

He clears his throat to reply to his daughter but Kate jumps in.

"You think Columbia will be hard? You should hear what the Police Academy was like."

Rick is grateful for the way she's trying to divert the subject, to distract him, keep him from opening his mouth and letting his hurt show - keep his daughter in the dark about it as well.

"The Police Academy was hard?" Alexis asks, lifting both eyebrows in skepticism.

Castle smirks at that, glances back to Kate. She's narrowed her eyes a little, but she seems to accept the tease. "It was brutal. Seriously. It's in Gramercy Park, but they're opening a new one next year. Anyway. Only two in a hundred applicants are accepted to the Academy-"

"No way," Castle interrupts, surprised to find that it's actually working. He's distracted. "Two percent? That's shockingly low."

Kate presses her lips together, leans past him to glance at Alexis. "We had academics and physical training both. Plus driving, firearms, tactics, the cadet corp. . .We were up at four in the morning and we didn't crawl into bed until ten."

"Wow," they breathe - he and Alexis both in sync. Kate laughs a little at that.

Castle squeezes Kate's hand. He's never heard about her days in the Police Academy before. "Tell me more."

She shrugs. "Not much more. I mean - okay, so the classes were criminal law, criminal justice, a lot of scenario stuff - what do you do if this happens. Um, we had this terrible drill sergeant of an FTO - field training officer. We called him Rambo behind his back, only he found out about it, and we stood outside holding all of our gear on one of the hottest days of the month. It was miserable."

"What else?" he says, the three of them walking so slowly now that old couples are passing them.

Kate gives him a swift look and grins, shaking her head. "All you can think about is studying and finishing your training. By the time you're in it, you just want it to be over. And then I got assigned. Mike Royce was my TO - he taught me. . .a lot."

Castle squeezes her hand, but they've been through this already; they're good. She's good.

"Was it scary?" Alexis asks, both women leaning around him to talk.

"It was exhilarating," Kate says, her voice tenored with joy, relish, pleasure. He watches her as she debates her next words, that deliberative pause before she starts again. "Each day was a challenge. And I felt like I was actually helping people for a change. I did everything by the book and filled out my forms and bent over backwards to do it right. I was also - it felt like just the beginning. It seemed that I was closer than ever to figuring out what happened to my mother. . ."

Alexis lets out a little sigh. "And that was like _ten years_ ago. It's been a decade," his daughter says, glancing back at Castle with a twist to her mouth.

"I've learned a lot. With your dad's help," Kate says, but Alexis is staring up at him, eyes filled.

Yeah. It's like that, Alexis. "That's why," he says quietly.

His daughter drops her cheek to his shoulder and wraps her arm around his. "I got it now."

"What?" Kate murmurs at him, and he shakes his head at her. Later. Later, Kate.

"It sounds like you loved it. I can't believe you quit, just like that," Alexis sighs.

Castle takes a deep breath.

He can't believe she quit either.

* * *

The Met took all day and she could have spent even longer there. She got stuck in the Greek sculpture; why, she doesn't know. But the blank eyes and white faces seemed to stare down at her, their ancient tragedies coming alive through their expressions. When Castle came and found her still there, he pulled her along to the Roof Garden and they drank iced coffee amid the modern sculptures, the city skyline spread out before them.

She came home with him for dinner and discovered that he has a plan for tonight.

Kate perches on the arm of his sofa, brushes her hand through Castle's hair, but she's not really paying attention to the trash talk.

Castle has invited Ryan and Esposito to play the Arkham Asylum video game with him. The two partners are still a little hesitant with each other, but it seems like Esposito has stopped ignoring Ryan at least. They shoulder bump and high five when they do well on a certain level - okay, yeah, she knows nothing about this Batman game, but the graphics are amazing - and the boys are all sucked into it. So much so that they don't even notice when Kate lets her fingers trail over her partner's forehead, down the side of his face to his jaw.

He does kiss her fingers when they wander close.

Kate watches Castle stick his tongue out as he plays, his body rising and falling back into the couch as if he could help his player jump. She bites her bottom lip against her own stupid, mushy thoughts, (but she can picture him as a little boy now, and wouldn't-). Kate drops her hand from his head and stands.

"Hey," he says immediately, cutting his eyes to her and then back to the video game.

"Keep playing," she says, shaking her head at him.

He does; his attention is almost totally caught up in that game. He asked her to stay while they got started, _so you can keep them from fighting_, but he's got this. The boys are behaving themselves.

Kate heads into his bedroom and finds her phone, unplugs it from the charger. She checks her email out of habit; it's her work email, and she's still got access, but she only gets memos and reminders and bulletins. Nothing real.

But she's still on the duty roster, just like Ryan told her, even if suspended.

Kate clicks out of her email app and scrolls through her contacts instead.

She's not - she can't go back - she won't. Sometimes just the very thought of heading back into that life makes her chest tight. She chose this, him, having an actual life, getting a chance to be a part of something. . .extraordinary.

She needs a job though; she needs a career, a direction for her life.

She lands on Margaret Mason, her thumb hovering over the contact information for the woman who used to work with Kate's mother at Carney Law. Her heart pounds as she stares at the entry.

Margaret told her to call; she asked to keep in touch and said they could use someone with her extensive knowledge of criminal law.

Kate lifts her head at a noise out in the living room, hears Castle crowing about his video game, something about the level he reached, and it pulls her enough out of her own head for her to realize-

she has so much. She has been given so very much, but she's also had to work for it, claim it. They're just at the beginning of this - there are all kinds of avenues available to them.

And it can't hurt; it actually cannot hurt her at all to call Margaret Mason and ask about a job.

So why not?


	80. 82: Thursday

**82**

* * *

Pink or white?

She successively holds the two shirts in front of her, head tilted as she considers. The white shirt looks more professional, she thinks, but she likes the pink one better. It makes her feel confident, makes her feel beautiful.

Because of the way Castle looks at her when she wears it?

Ugh.

Kate groans and hangs the pink shirt back in the closet, slams the door shut over it. It'll be white.

When she called Margaret Mason last night, she didn't expect the results to be quite so...immediate. But the Carney firm is presently looking for a researcher, which happens to be a job that Kate could actually envision herself doing, maybe working her way up, and so - interview today.

She wasn't going to say no.

Kate studies her hair in the mirror, her too-long, unmanageable hair that needs to get cut. She's been putting it off because of Castle, of course; he obviously loves it long, will play with it when they're in bed and she's turned away from him. And she-

sigh. She likes it.

Okay. She can do this. She can...braid her hair, pull it up into a bun? What does a bun say? That you're in control, on top of things. _That you have a stick up your ass,_ Castle's playful voice murmurs in her head, and jeez, that's enough.

Seriously? How did she end up with Castle's voice in her head? That is _so _not okay. She takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, does it again. Everything will be fine.

She doesn't even want this job. Right? She doesn't care if she gets it or not. This is - this is a test run, to get herself back in the game, give herself some perspective. Because she hasn't been to a job interview in over ten years.

She'll be fine.

_Breathe, Kate._

Ultimately she gathers her hair into a loose bun at the back of her neck, not too strict but not careless either; she uses the same make-up that she wore when she worked at the 12th, only eyeshadow and mascara, a touch of eyeliner. No lipstick.

And before she can start doubting herself again, she slides her feet into a pair of ridiculous heels, grabs the purse that makes her feel about ten years older, and walks out of her bedroom.

She can do this.

* * *

There are already a few other people waiting in the anteroom she's shown into.

A man and two women, all younger than she is. Well, the man could be her age, actually, hard to tell. But one of the women, a tiny blonde who is impeccably dressed and made-up, looks like she is about twenty-two years old.

Kate takes a seat and tries to make her body relax. She involuntarily meets the eye of the other woman, a pretty redhead who's nervously twisting her hands; they exchange small smiles, which turns out to be a terrible mistake. The only thing Beckett can think about now is what this job means to that young woman, how she's maybe failed the bar a few times, doesn't know what else to do; she's on the verge of financial ruin and this is her last chance, her last-

Stop. _Stop._

Who is she with these stupid stories - Castle?

Thank goodness, she's brought the last manuscript with her, shoved it in her bag on a hunch before she left. She pulls it out, lets her attention slip back to the written page, someone else's problems, someone else's life.

She's barely made it to page 5 when her name is called.

"Ms. Beckett?"

"Yes," she says, raising her eyes, getting to her feet with the manuscript still in her hand. Her insides are fluttering, but it's not as bad as it was while she was getting ready. She's got it under control, finally.

"Please, come in," the older woman says, not smiling but not hostile either, her face as bland as her grey, practical suit.

Kate obeys, draws in a small breath, her fingers curled around the strap of her bag.

Good thing she went for the bun.

* * *

The office is rather small, but tastefully arranged, white walls with hints of color here and there, photo frames, exotic souvenirs. A potted plant next to the window seems to be thriving.

"Take a seat," the woman invites her, giving her a thin smile that doesn't reach her eyes behind the square, no-nonsense glasses. She shakes hands with Kate, though, and her grip is firm and cool, the kind Beckett likes. "I'm Monica White, and I'm in charge of HR here."

"It's nice to meet you," Kate says, wondering fleetingly how old Monica is. Her hair is a beautiful, shiny grey, but her face is surprisingly smooth, not many wrinkles there.

The woman sits down behind her desk, reaches for a folder.

"So. Ms. Beckett. Margaret Mason stopped by earlier explaining your connection with us."

Kate gives a brief nod, hopes this isn't a pity thing. Probably not, since Monica White seems too professional to care.

Monica White presses finger to a file folder. "This is - quite an interesting resume that you have."

Kate doesn't have an answer to that, so she remains silent, waiting.

"Ten years of working for the NYPD," Monica states slowly, "and suddenly you decide that you've had enough of it. Excuse my curiosity, but I'd like to know what pushed you to make that decision."

Right.

Keep it short, keep it vague_._ "Well - the captain I used to work with died last year. He was shot - he had a family, was about to retire. That kind of thing just...gets you thinking. Being a cop made sense when I was younger, because of some personal experiences that shaped me, made me want to see if I could make a difference, but-"

"You no longer feel that way?"

_Yes._ "No," she lies smoothly. "Or at least, I feel like there are other ways to bring about justice. Ways that don't involve me risking my life every day."

That's simplifying it, for sure, but there's absolutely no way that Kate will mention the sniper and the roof in a job interview. Or her previous obsession with her mother's case, for that matter.

White studies her for a moment, something like appreciation in her dark brown eyes. "So you'd be interested in a job that's a little more...secure. I can understand that," she says. And then, after a pause: "I won't lie to you, Kate: your profile is not exactly what I'm looking for here. But I'm - interested - nonetheless. So tell me. What makes you think you could be a good researcher for this firm?"

Beckett sits up straight in her chair, all of her relaxed now, poised and ready. This is the easy part; she's always been self-confident, always been very aware of her strengths and qualities. Being a detective is all about research - putting in the grunt work to make that connection.

Kate knows she can make Monica White see that.

* * *

Rick emerges from the ungrateful world of editing at the second knock on his front door, rubs a hand over his face as he stands up. Jeez, he hates this; he feels like a zombie, buried in his study all day, hardly aware of the time that passes.

But Gina's emails have reached the angry-threatening stage; he could no longer avoid them. He told Kate last night not to expect him, but the reward will be turning up early at her place tomorrow.

He's expecting Alexis back - or, um, he thinks he is? - but it turns out that Alexis isn't the one waiting on the other side of the door.

He grins at Kate, his heart lifting, and before he can say anything she steps into him, curls a hand around his neck and brings her mouth against his. Mmm. Oh, that is nice. He lets her play with his bottom lip before he opens up to the soft touch of her tongue, loses himself in her warm, wet mouth.

Oh, oh, he's missed this-

When she breaks the kiss he pursues her, can never quite get enough of her intoxicating taste, but she laughs quietly and offers him her cheek, brushes her lips over his cheekbone.

"You look like you need to get out of the house," she says, arching an eyebrow, reaching up to run her fingers through his messy hair. He's wearing sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt, too - not exactly his sexiest outfit.

Heh. Didn't keep her from kissing him like she wanted to jump his bones, did it?

"Come to rescue your prince from his tower?" he smirks, fisting a hand on the soft, white material of her shirt, inching her closer.

"Ha. I don't know about the prince part of that sentence," Kate teases, her mouth open in that gorgeous smile that shows him a glimpse of tongue. "But sure, Castle. I'll rescue you any time."

"My hero," he says, wriggling his eyebrows, leaning in to steal a kiss. Ohh, she's wearing the sexy heels, the ones that make her just as tall as he is. Hot.

"Wanna rescue me from the evil slippery tiles of my shower?" he suggests.

Kate bites her lip, looks at him from under her eyelashes. "I might be persuaded," she says after a second, her fingers hooking at the waistband of his pants, her eyes dark and delicious.

He sucks in a quick breath, can't quite believe his luck.

She's extraordinary. And she's his.

Wait, no, no. Not his. Her own woman. Kate Beckett is very much her own woman.

But she _loves him_.

And he staggers back into his study as she proceeds to show him how much.


	81. 83: Friday

**83**

* * *

"What are you doing?"

He glares back at her from where he sits on her bed. "I am withholding sexual favors."

Her face flares up in that smirky, smart-assy grin, and he narrows his eyes at her.

"Oh you are?" she says dryly, lifting an eyebrow. "In the middle of the afternoon with our Monopoly game not even finished?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh," she says, taking a step into her bedroom, her fingers drawing down the doorframe as she comes, lingering, each footfall like a damn tease. "Here I thought you were just pouting."

"I'm doing both," he insists, more to his own body than hers. _Resist._

"Oh, that's too bad," she murmurs, and her hips sway as she walks, her legs rippling in the afternoon light, flashes of brilliance as she heads for him.

"It really is too bad. You made fun of me. This is the consequence."

"You deserved it," she says, almost gently, as if she's letting him down easy. "Plus your daughter is still sitting on the couch out there, waiting on us."

She's already standing in front of him, his eyes transfixed on the sweep of her jeans down her thighs. He drags his eyes upwards. "Let her wait."

"What, exactly, is she waiting on? You to stop pouting, or me to try and-" she leans in, so very close, her breasts visible down the line of her shirt. "-break you."

Break-

"No. Nothing doing. You can't break me. I've had four years of-"

Ung. Shit.

Her mouth hovers just over his neck where she touched his skin with her tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut and commends himself for somehow inventing a very good game, an awesome game, if only it was one he wanted to lose...

She blows on his neck and his hips jerk; she laughs and pulls back, but it's not a mean laugh, it's just so very pleased and sure of herself, and that's not fair.

"You can't break me," he says, and even _he_ hears the desperation in his voice.

She slides a knee between his, draws her fingers up his arms to his shoulders, plays with the hair at the back of his neck. Soothing. Over and over. Hypnotic.

He presses his hands flat to the mattress to keep from reaching up and grabbing her hips.

She and Alexis ganged up on him. He is making her pay. Punishment. No sex, no sexy times, no sexy brushes of his lips against that ripe, half-opened mouth. It's-

_Shit. Shit._

_Her mouth_.

-it's impossible.

* * *

When Kate finally cajoles Castle back out into the living room, they finish up the last game of their Olympic Monopoly Trials - and Kate wins. Of course. Alexis is second, barely edging her father out, but Rick has won back the railroads he was pouting about and he seems to count that as victory.

"Since there's only three of us," Alexis tells him, patting him on the shoulder. "You still get the bronze, Dad."

Kate snorts with laughter and gets a petulant look from Castle for it. She shakes her head and gets up off her living room floor, nudges his forehead as she passes on her way to the television.

"What's the prize for bronze?" Castle says, digging through the bag of goodies that Alexis brought with her. "Ooh, this! I want this."

"Gold gets first dibs," Kate mutters. "But go ahead."

He shoots her a smug look and peels paper off of a ridiculous looking chocolate medal; it's the bronze, of course, but he's also got pixie sticks in his other hand, and maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

"Television," he reminds her, imperially pointing.

She pulled the tv out into the living room for today's Opening Ceremonies, invited the Castles over so they could make a party out of it. Alexis has been trying a lot more lately, maybe because she's also been gone - new Columbia friends - and Castle has been rather moody, maybe because of those same new friends.

"Oh, look, perfect timing," she says as the television warms up and the picture comes through in high-definition. "It's starting."

"Come sit with me," Castle says, and she glances over her shoulder with the remote in hand, sees him on her couch and patting the spot beside him. The pixie sticks have been downed already. Great.

Alexis rolls her eyes and pokes him in the thigh with her bare toes, sitting with her back against the other arm of the couch and slowly chewing her silver medal chocolate. Kate drops the remote on the coffee table and finds a place next to Rick, a tight spot really, and her body cants into him as she gets comfortable. He hands her the gold and she grins.

His mouth comes to her cheek, a kiss that starts sloppy and a little too much, but ends light, brushing, a sigh of something like pleasure from him. Kate curls her legs up under her to watch the fascinating display onscreen, but lets her head fall against his shoulder. The chocolate is gone in seconds.

Castle wraps his arm around her, but he's still looking at her.

"What?" she murmurs, lifting a little to give him a raised eyebrow.

"You've seemed kinda. . .restless today. What's going on?"

Monica White hasn't called her back. She thought - she doesn't know what she thought. She doesn't even want the job, does she? But she wants to be considered; she wants a shot at it.

"Nothing's going on," she shrugs, and lifts up a little to place a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You've been so pouty, I'm surprised you noticed."

"I always notice you," he murmurs back, nudging his nose against hers. "Really. What's up?"

"Just feeling like I should be doing something," she says carefully.

He gives her a crooked grin. "Ah, and watching the Olympics doesn't really help that feeling, does it?"

She shrugs again, but he could be right. Still.

"It's summer, Kate. Give yourself a chance to just - do nothing for a while, you know? If you need. . .money - I can-"

"No," she murmurs, putting two fingers to his lips to cut him off. He frowns around her hand.

"Kate, it wouldn't be-"

"I have money," she says quietly. "Well, I have enough for now."

"Are you going to let me know if you need more?"

"No," she says honestly, pressing her lips together. "It won't get to that."

"No or it won't get to that?"

"Both. I won't need your money, Castle. I won't take your money either. Our vacation, dinners out - I'm letting that be part of how you. . ." Kate shakes her head, glances past him to his daughter surreptitiously not listening to their conversation. "How you do things. I know you want - I'm becoming okay with being romanced by a wealthy man," she says finally, trying to smile at him.

"Just consider the espresso machine was step one," he grins. She feels his body releasing tension, didn't realize he'd been so concerned about it. She slips her fingers up and down his thigh, gentling him, moving deeper into his side.

She really doesn't mind him spending money on her - he keeps it within the realm of reality, for the most part. She won't allow him to romance her in Paris or anything, but taking a vacation, buying her a pair of shoes on that spur of the moment shopping trip, even - yes, even the new computer, new television, replacing stuff in her apartment - she can be all right with that. When he asks first.

"So. . ." he draws out, lacing his fingers with hers on top of his thigh. "So you're okay for money."

"I'm good."

"After last summer," he hesitates, squeezing her hand. "I just want to be sure your savings isn't wiped out or-"

"It's not. Remember, I told you?" She rubs her thumb along the back of his hand. "My dad ended up paying for most of it. He had some money put aside, and then there was this huge chunk-"

She feels it rush over her in a wave, turns to look at him with her insides gutted out.

It was him.

"Kate?" He looks suddenly uncertain, _nervous_, and she realizes-

It's supposed to remain unknown. Anonymous donation. How had she not seen it back then? He did what he could to make it easier on her, even though she'd refused him a daily presence in her life that summer. He used his money - it was the only way he could love her.

And he's still doing it, just in conjunction with everything else.

She takes a breath in and pushes her forehead to his shoulder, squeezing his hand. "No more talk about money," she says finally.

"Okay," he says instantly.

"I'll. . .let you know if I get in trouble," she breathes out.

He startles beside her, turning half into her to look at her face. She lifts her head to show him she's serious, and a glimmer of a smile breaks through. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Partners, right?"

She can _feel_ his deep breath release, his body melting even as his arm snakes around her and squeezes.

"Partners."

Besides. If she gets this job at her mother's old law firm, she won't have to need his money.


	82. 84: Saturday

**84**

* * *

Castle adjusts his boxers on his hips, then goes hunting for his shirt; he finds it on the floor, by Kate's bed. Somewhat wrinkled. Oops.

He quickly puts on the rest of his clothes, looks around for something to do. He got kicked out of the shower - Kate physically pushed him out, said he would make them late for the movie - so he runs his hands through his still-wet hair, tries to ignore the sounds of the running water.

Been there, done that, Rick.

He could eat something. Yeah. He's kinda hungry, actually. Not that Kate's cupboards are usually overflowing with provisions, but he should be able to figure out something.

So he heads for the kitchen, inspects the fridge, pleasantly surprised to discover a dozen eggs that are not out of date. Hm, does he have time for eggs though? Maybe he should just-

A loud buzz interrupts his thoughts, makes him turn, look for the origin of the noise. Kate left her phone on the table, must have silenced it - the thing is vibrating like crazy, inching dangerously close to the edge of the table. Castle rescues it magnanimously, can't help glancing at the identity of the caller.

Margaret Mason.

Huh. He's heard that name before. Where did he hear that name? _Margaret Mason._ Margaret Mason. Margaret Mas-

The shower stops, and the phone is still buzzing in his hand. Castle ventures back into the bedroom, gears turning in his brain, finds the bathroom door ajar. "Kate?" he calls. "Your phone's ringing."

"Who is it?" she asks, hooking her bra before she turns to him, pushes the door open.

His eyes land on the round scar between her breasts, flicker back up to her face; sometimes just the sight of the pink, puckered skin is enough to tie his heart in knots.

"A Margaret Mason," he says, and suddenly, out of nowhere, it clicks. He sees a face, a building - the Carney firm. Margaret Mason, a former colleague of Johanna Beckett.

Why is the woman calling Kate?

Beckett hesitates for a second, lip pulled between her teeth, then reaches for her phone. "I'll be quick, Castle," she promises, before she closes the bathroom door in his face.

But he's intrigued now, and vaguely indignant at being shut out, so he eavesdrops shamelessly, resting his shoulder against the thin wall. Doesn't do him much good, because Kate isn't saying a lot, and what she does say is rather cryptic.

"No, no, I'm not disappointed at all," he hears. "Margaret, if anything, I'm grateful for the chance-" the other woman must interrupt Kate, because she says nothing more for a moment, probably listening. Damn.

"That would be great," Kate concludes, her voice warm. "Thank you again; I really appreciate it."

Appreciate what? The conversation is clearly over, though, and Castle hastens to move away from the door before he can get caught. He grabs a random book from one of Kate's shelves, hopes he looks convincingly absorbed when she comes out of the bathroom, a few seconds later.

Fully clothed, he notices with a twinge of regret.

Kate drops her phone onto her bed, turns on the light in her closet, rummages through her shoes. He watches her, waiting, as she picks a pair of heels and then puts them on, touching a hand to the wall for balance.

When she goes into the living room to look for a bag, however, and mentions something about getting a cab so they won't be late, Castle has to reluctantly accept that she's not going to say anything to him about that phone call. Not if he doesn't ask.

He doesn't want to ask.

But he does want to know.

The battle inside him lasts for a few seconds, a minute maybe, until his curiosity comes out victorious. He draws in a long breath, tries to sound nonchalant. "So, why is Margaret Mason calling you?"

Kate stops in the middle of what she's doing - looks like she's transferring the contents of a little handbag to the pockets of her jacket - and gives him a sharp, surprised look. Maybe she didn't expect him to remember who Margaret was.

"Just getting back to me, Castle," she says vaguely, going back to the perusal of her purse. "No big deal."

That's not what he asked. He struggles, part of him wishing so hard that he could drop this, forget about it, enjoy a quiet night at the movies. _The Dark Knight Rises_ and Kate's warm body, close to his in the darkness-

But no.

"What are you grateful for, then? What chance did she give you?"

Kate stills, her shoulders stiff, that deadly silence that he's learned to be afraid of. But this is important. He can tell it is.

"Listening in to my private phone conversations, Castle?" she says finally, her voice too calm as she turns to him. "Nice. Classy."

The burn of anger in his chest is sudden, fierce. "Don't give me that, Kate. I wouldn't have to eavesdrop on your _private conversations_ if you would just tell me things_._ This-" he flicks his fingers between the two of them "- is never going to work if you're not willing to share-"

"Are you kidding me?" There's an undercurrent of laughter to her voice, but he's spent enough time with her to know it's not good. "What, are those my only choices, Castle? I tell you things, or you'll spy on me? Is that what you do with Alexis?"

"Leave my daughter out of this," he replies quietly, furious at the way she's deliberately sidestepping the issue. "Kate, I asked a simple question. Because I'm _in love _with you, because I'm interested in your life, and I want to know what happens to you. If you can't answer me honestly, if you have to brush it off and say that _it's no big deal_-"

"Because it's not!" she answers, throwing her hands up as if she can't comprehend him. "Castle. I called Margaret because I was trying to figure out what to do with my life, and I thought a job at a law firm - at least I'd still be a part of the system. It turned out they were actually looking for a researcher, so I went there for an interview, didn't get the job. No big deal."

He stares at her, open-mouthed, stunned. She stares back for a couple heartbeats, her eyes clear and expectant, before he finally finds his voice again. "No big deal?" he repeats, almost a whisper. He can't believe- "You went to a job interview at your mom's old law firm and you weren't even going to _tell me_?"

"Rick," she says, her tone conciliatory as she steps forward. "I didn't even want the job. I went to the interview because it was a good opportunity, a way to get back in the game, that's all. Practice. And when they called me back, I wasn't disappointed, I wasn't sad, I wasn't anything. There was no reason to tell you."

She means it, he can tell. She didn't say anything because she honestly thought there was nothing to say. Only - he doesn't see it that way.

"What if you _had _gotten the job?" he asks, hating how raspy his voice sounds. "Would you have told me then? Would that have been a...big enough deal?"

Her mouth parts, and for the first time he detects a crack in her confident exterior, a flash of hesitation in her eyes. "Castle-"

But he holds up a hand, suddenly terrified of whatever she might say to that, not sure at all his heart can take it. She just - she-

"You were just going to conveniently not mention it," he says, his throat dry. "With everything that's happened - how stupid it is to keep secrets, you were-"

"Secrets?" she laughs, a startled thing that bursts from her mouth, but her eyes are searching. "Castle. It's not a secret. It's not anything. It's less than nothing. I told you I needed a job, you asked if I needed money. I don't understand."

Less than nothing. He needs to get out of here. "No, Kate. I... I get that this is - your life, your apartment, your job. I'm trying to respect that. But I'm, uh. I'm a little lost here as to where my place is in all of this. Where I fit in your life. And every time I think I've got it, every time I think we're good, something like this happens, and I just-" he sighs, rubs his hand against his neck. "I don't know anymore."

He glances at her face, looks away again, cannot deal with the emotion he sees shimmering there. Not right now. "I'm...gonna take a walk," he says, has to unstick the words from his throat. "I need to - I need to be alone for a while."

He waits for a second, two, doesn't know what he's hoping for; but it doesn't come. Kate nods slowly, like someone awaken from a dream, says only -

"Okay."

"I have my phone," he tells her, and then he turns, skirting her to get at the door, all of it aching in his chest.

She doesn't try to stop him.


	83. 85: Sunday

**85**

* * *

Space.

He asked for space.

She respects the need for space.

She _will_ respect his too. His request for space.

She owes it to him.

* * *

Kate loads the dish washer with the past week's clutter - dinner a few night's ago, the snack Alexis made, the popcorn bowl that he melted M&Ms into - and then pops in a powder and gel packet, runs it. The gentle chugging of the machine fills her too-quiet, too-empty apartment and Kate stands in the kitchen, trying to keep it together.

Twenty-two hours without a word from him. He asked for space; he needed to take a walk.

It's been a long walk.

Was she keeping secrets? No. She was just - living her life. She doesn't understand-

Kate takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, dissipating her anxiety as the air leaves her lungs. She scrapes her hair back, plucks the rubber band from her wrist, makes a pony tail. Already in leggings and a running shirt - her zombie run was oddly comforting this morning - she heads into the living room and starts up the yoga dvd.

Deep breathing, clear her mind, find her center.

He needs some space.

* * *

Sweat slides into her eyebrow, lingers for a hesitating moment, then drops into her eye. She blinks furiously, maintains Warrior pose, and keeps her breathing even. When she draws back for Tree, she swipes her forehead against her bare shoulder, smears more sweat along her skin, grimy with it.

Her shirt is plastered to her chest, her thighs tremble as she lifts her foot to her opposite knee, keeping a tight reign over her core muscles. Sweat slips down her neck, pools between her breasts, clings to her stomach.

She breathes out, lowers her foot, breathes in to switch to the other foot. She has to cheat and glance to the television, her concentration scattered tonight, to see what comes next.

Toe stand pose. Damn. How many times has she done this video and she couldn't remember that?

Kate squats slowly as she breathes out, palms pressed together, shifts her weight to only one trembling foot, the other tucked in tight against her body. When she has her balance, she flexes her calf and goes en pointe for half a second, falls back to regular tiptoe, her body one continuous cramp of exertion.

Sweat pours down her body, her breathing ragged, and she makes herself hold it until she's trembling so badly she pitches to one side.

Her knee hits first and she collapses, rolls onto her back, bringing a sweat-slick arm across her eyes. Kate sucks in her breath, again and again, and finally can't stop it.

She cries into her elbow, on the floor, great gulping gasps that choke her breath, the tears rolling back and collecting in her ears, pooling with her sweat.

He needs space.

* * *

She had three months. She had all year. She was given that time like a gift, and she will at least give him the same respect.

Even if it kills her.

He didn't contact her father last summer, trying to sneak around behind her back for information; she won't call his daughter to find out if he's okay. If he's coming back. If he can't take her anymore and-

She has to get out of here.

Kate picks herself up off the floor and swipes at her eyes, her head thick with it, her throat clogged. She rips the shirt over her head and stalks into her bedroom, flings it towards the dirty clothes hamper in the closet. Misses.

Bending over to snag it off the floor, she feels the choke of tears and has to stand up quickly, blink it back. She leaves the shirt where it fell, skins off her leggings, dumps the underwear.

She turns for her bathroom but she doesn't have the energy for a shower, doesn't think she can keep it in long enough. All that water, all that forgiving noise - if she goes in there, she'll never come out.

No. Enough.

This is her choice, to have him, however long she can make it last, however long he'll take it, and this is what happens.

This is life.

Enough.

Beckett finds clean underwear, yoga pants, pulls them on one after another without thinking. A hot pink sports bra, an oversized purple shirt that does nothing to improve her mood, and then she shoves on shoes.

She has to sit down to tie her laces, her fingers trembling over the fine motor work. Then she stands again, swiping at her cheeks for the renegade drops, and heads for her front door.

She manages to grab her keys and then she's gone.

* * *

She has her subway card but not much else. She forgot her phone, wallet - she looks a holy mess. Her hair snakes out from the rubber band, curled haphazardly with sweat and a day's worth of _I can't even begin to care_, and she knows she has whatever remains of her make-up smeared under her eyes.

Did she even put on make-up this morning?

Not sure. Probably not. She might have wanted to, a confidence booster, but after the zombie run in Central Park where she came breathlessly back from a sprint to her starting place and he wasn't there-

She really thought he'd be back by now.

How long a walk did-

Okay, no. Enough.

It's not over, for goodness sake. It's just some damn space. She made him wait three months with _nothing_; she knew this isn't it. Lots of life left in them yet.

She ignores the petulant voice in her head that said _But last summer you weren't sleeping with him._

She ignores it fervently.

When she realizes she's staring into space, her hand loose on the metal bar in the subway car, she decides to get off, start walking and see where she ends up.

She always deals with problems, anxiety, issues with exertion. Physicality makes her stop going crazy. Running keeps her from running in circles. It works if she works out.

All those nice word plays; Castle would-

Enough.

_Enough_, Beckett.

* * *

When she lifts her head, she realizes where she is. The playground. The scene of so many pivotal moments for her - cracks in the wall, breaks, wholesale destruction.

She thought. She really did think it was gone, the whole thing, just - in a wreck at her feet. She would never have come to him that night if she didn't think they had a chance.

The thing about the job interview - it didn't occur to her to share. She was a little ashamed of her laziness, if she's honest, and she wanted to get out there again, get moving. She talked to him about the job search; they had conversations about it. She doesn't understand why-

Kate drops her head, crosses her arms against it. She's sweating again; the day is heavy with the humidity of oncoming storms. Above her, the sky is dull, the same color as the skyscrapers. She trails her eyes from the city and back towards the trees, the grass, the expanse of playground equipment sprawled before her.

Oh, it's - there's so many kids, families. The swings are full, no more room.

She stands awkwardly at the edge of the playground, swipes at the errant hair waving in the slow tug of a breeze. Heat lightning flashes from far off and a few parents are wrangling their kids, taking them home, but the majority stay.

A dark-skinned boy with a fierce scowl catches her attention; he swings from the monkey bars, hanging a moment at the next to last one, gathering his strength. He rocks back and then lunges for it, but misses, his body dropping like a stone.

She tilts forward, lightning flickers across the still-light sky, but the kid is fine. He pushes up with a stubbornness that impresses her, climbs back up the monkey bars, starts it all over again. From the beginning.

She lets out a breath, glances once more to the swings longingly-

Castle.

Just past the swings.

Castle.

* * *

"Rick."

No, her voice did _not_ hitch. She is fine.

He watches her approach; his eyes are hungry on hers, but he doesn't move. His hands flex, fist at his sides. She doesn't know what that means.

She stands in front of him, lightning flickering at the edges of her vision, and it just comes out.

"Why wouldn't you be in my life? What else is there? What more can I-"

He crushes her into an embrace so fierce it flattens her words, steals her breath. She presses her face into his neck and wraps her arms at his back, trying to keep it together.

It's useless. Shit. Useless. Her relief is so great it washes over her like a flash flood and she drowns in it, happily, without a fight.

Kate snakes an arm between them and swipes at her cheeks; she's not going to do this now, not now, not with him right here.

"Long - long walk," she says, clearing her throat.

"You didn't call me," he murmurs.

What?

"I didn't call you?" she says, incredulous with it, pulling back to look at him. "You said - you _left_, Castle. What-"

"You - I thought you would - follow."

She stares at him, bewildered for the second time in just over a day, and can't fathom where this man even _came_ from. "Follow?"

Her astonishment is so great that it actually makes him chuckle, a dry thing with no life in it, and she sees actual hurt behind his eyes. She _hurt him_ by not chasing after him? She hurt him by doing exactly what he _asked_ of her?

"Are you serious?" she hisses, then shoves on his shoulder, not at all dislodging him. "Follow you?"

"I guess you - you wanted some space," he says quietly, his eyes dark pools in the dimming light.

"Me? _I _wanted space?" She presses both heels of her hands into her eyes and tries to keep from losing it. Just. Losing it. "Castle."

His hands tighten on her elbows, tugging, and she's forced to look at him. He takes a rocking step back, like he's received a blow, and his mouth drops open.

"Kate."

She's going to cry. Shit. She does _not_ want to cry.

"Kate," he says, cradling her now, a hand palming the back of her neck, another at her hips, pressing her in close. She puts her face to his chest, growling at him to get rid of the ugly sting of tears, and her mouth opens, bites his collarbone.

He grunts and squeezes the back of her neck, taking it, and she feels his head drop closer, his breath at her shoulder. When she thinks she can speak, she pulls away a little, lips soothing the spot she marked with her teeth as she glances at his face.

"You said you needed to be alone."

He opens his mouth, closes it, something like understanding dawning in his eyes. "I - I did. I see how you would - that's important to you."

What? What the hell? Why does she always feel blind-sided by him? "Castle, this isn't good. I don't understand half of our arguments. I don't get why a phone call I didn't elaborate on somehow turned into you disappearing on me for a whole day-"

"Wait. Just-" He shakes his head at her. "Hold off on that for a second. I think we need to-"

She clenches her fists at his back and remembers to breathe, her brain still circling around and around on _You didn't call me._

"I guess I thought. . .that you would come find me when you were ready to apologize," he says finally.

Apologize?

"You said you needed to take a walk, to be alone."

"I see now - I get that those words have a particular meaning for you that they don't for me-"

"What the hell else do they mean?" she cries, feeling it pressing tightly in her chest again, a great choking that makes her hands clench tighter.

"Yeah. See. Last summer, I expected - for at least a month there - I really thought you were going to call me."

"Are you _trying_ to make me cry?" she grits out.

"No," he hurries on, gripping her by the elbows, smoothing his thumbs up her biceps. "No, Kate. Please don't - I'm not explaining this well. When I left, I told you I'd have my phone on me-"

"And that meant I should call you?" Why does she feel like the fucking _guy_ in this relationship? She's the one who takes his words at face value and assumes when he says he needs to be alone that he needs to be alone-

Oh. But Castle? _Castle_ needs to be alone? Yeah, when does that happen?

She swallows again, pushes it down, all of it, tries to be logical. Since he's the girl here; she's got to figure this out.

"Right. You're the one who hovers. You'd never need this much time alone. How stupid of me to not see that," she gets out.

He sucks in a breath and drops his hands. "I don't want to fight with you."

"Too late." She glares at him a moment, but it falls flat as well. Everything else swirls back up in a rush and all the words she promised she wouldn't say are pouring out of her. "How are you not in my life? How is three weeks in Belize together not in my life? A day without you, Castle, and I'm a mess, and how is this _not_ you in my life?"

He raises his hands to her again, palms splayed wide at her back, and she stiffens at the pull of him, can't resist it. Heat lightning is ripping apart the darkening sky and the playground is emptying out.

She turns away from him and moves woodenly to the abandoned swings, sinks down with a sigh, trying not to let the tears come. He's followed her over, takes the swing next to hers, his eyes on her.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I think you and I have different ideas about what gets shared."

"You think?" she growls, tilting her head back, keeping her eyes wide open to stare at the dark, ominous sky. Blink faster.

"I think," he murmurs, and her head snaps back down to see him, lonely looking over there, his eyes cast to the ground.

She did this too, didn't she? Put them on separate swings, apart, no longer touching. She was just tired, just felt like if his hands were on her she wouldn't be able to keep it together, but now-

Kate digs her heel into the ruts under her swing, draws closer to him, feeling the tug of gravity backwards. She reaches out and snags his chain with her right hand, hooks her leg around his to hold on. He startles, a laugh popping out of his mouth, and his feet come off the ground to swing with her, back in the middle, the two of them hooked together.

Castle slowly unwraps his hand from his swing and reaches out, catches her other chain, draws her even closer for a kiss.

A crack of thunder makes her jump, her mouth crashing into his, his teeth at her bottom lip and hard. She sucks in a breath and pushes closer, her tongue darting past his, stroking.

Their kiss is heavy, awkward as the swings rock in the wind, with their movements, and she rolls her cheek against his to take a moment, breathing hard.

He sighs along her skin, nuzzles her nose with his own. "I love you."

"I know," she says. "I know. I know." That's not in question here.

He nods against her, but the silence says too much, not enough, and she presses her lips to his jaw, feels the harsh scrape of his unshaven cheek. At least a day's worth. He was just as miserable as she was.

"Castle," she sighs. "I love you too."

He lets out a long breath. "I know."

"Do you?" And she hates the way her voice breaks, but he's curling her closer, the swings jangling harshly, their legs tangled and tense with the effort of keeping them together. "Do you even believe me at all-"

"I do, Kate. I do," he murmurs. "We have things to talk about, serious issues, but I know you do."

They stay like that for a long time, the wind picking up, the scent of burned ozone in every breath, and then she lets her arm straighten, her muscles cramped, and the movement pushes him back far enough that she can look at him. "How'd you know where I was?"

His face blanks and he shakes his head. "I didn't."

"Oh." He didn't come back to her. He just. Kept walking. "Then why are you here?"

"Trying to remind myself," he says with a little shrug that shakes the swings. A scatter of raindrops is sprinkled across her cheeks by the rush of wind, and then nothing more.

"Remind yourself of what?"

"That I could wait," he says finally. "That waiting pays off."

She closes her eyes and tries to breathe, everything breaking. His fingers find her cheek, stroke at her skin, the edge of a loose strand of hair, but he's quiet.

They do have issues. They have serious issues if he still thinks he's _waiting_ on her. Issues she didn't even know about, still can't understand, and the wide gulf of space between them seems darker and deeper than it did that night she came here, soaked to the skin, trying to find a way around not having him.

"Why did you come here?" he whispers.

She lifts her head, looks at him. "Reminding myself."

He tilts his head in question, and she answers because he cut her with the truth first.

"Reminding myself that I chose this. I made the decision to let it hurt so much. Good or bad. Didn't matter, so long as it was you doing the hurting."

And the blank wash of speechlessness that falls over him is answer enough. She lets go of his swing, her fingers cramped, unhooks her leg from his, calms his flicker of panic with a squeeze to his forearm even as she stands.

"It's about to pour," she says, drawing her hand down to his wrist, loosening his fingers. "Let me come home with you, Castle. We'll talk."

He lets go of the swing.


	84. 85: Sunday continued

**85 (continued)**

* * *

They say nothing on the way back.

They sit next to each other on the subway, hands intertwined, shoulders touching, but both of them sitting up straight. Kate doesn't lean into him, and he doesn't lean into her. Instead, he watches people, distracts himself with their imagined stories. That old woman with her shopping bag is going home to make dinner for her son and his girlfriend, whom she's about to meet for the first time; that tired-looking man with the briefcase is getting back to an empty apartment, won't see his kids until next weekend.

As long as he can spin tales, as long as he can absorb himself in these people's fantasy lives, Castle doesn't have to think about the look in Kate's eyes when he said _you didn't call._

He doesn't have to think about how - how powerless he feels.

How he doesn't know what to do to fix them, fix any of it.

They're just so different.

That's a good thing, right? He's not dumb enough to deny that it's probably the first thing he was attracted to, how different she was, the beauty, the enigma that her mind presented him with. Of course she's gorgeous - and that was part of it - but it was always more than that.

It was always the spark between them, the way they compliment each other, the brilliance that their brains achieve together. They're such a team.

He never expected-

He never thought that their fundamental differences, the things that work so well for them at the precinct, would come between them in a romantic relationship.

Yeah. _Stupid, Rick._

There's a gentle tug on his hand. "Castle, this is our stop," she says, and he gets up with her, follows her out of the car, impressed, as always, by the way people move away, make a path for her. Detective Beckett.

He stops her before they can get to the stairs, draws her aside to avoid being swept away by the human tide.

"Castle?"

Now that he's turned to her questioning face, he feels silly, of course, and maybe he should have just let them make their way up, kept silent. Except no, _no,_ he has to say this, because even if he doesn't have all the answers, even if they're both hurt and are likely to hurt each other again, he does have _this_-

And these words can never be said enough.

"I do love you," he says, still holding her hand in his and knowing he sounds a little crazy, a little desperate. Doesn't matter. "Kate. I really, really love you."

She watches him with that soft look in her eyes, not the one when she's trying to figure out what the hell he means, but the one when she understands - when she knows his heart, and there's nothing else to be said.

He would do anything, anything to keep that look, that certainty in her.

She steps in close, lifting on tiptoe, two fingers at his chin, and she offers him a kiss, a delicate encounter of their mouths, hardly more than a simple press of her lips, a butterfly touch. But she's warm, and soft, and _Kate_; it's all he needs.

"We're going to be okay," she murmurs, her breath against his chin. And then, more determined, her eyes dark as they stare into his: "We _will _make it work."

He nods mutely, has to swallow against the emotion crowding his throat. A shadow of a smile passes on her face, lifts the corner of her mouth. She steps back, dragging him with her. "Come on, Castle."

And he does.

* * *

The moment they emerge from the subway station, the sky opens above them; all the water of the world comes pouring down. By the time they reach Castle's building, they're both thoroughly drenched, dripping all over. But at least they're laughing.

Castle does that thing where he attempts to shake his hair dry - it so totally makes him look like a dog, and it's completely ineffective too - and she cannot hold it in, the bright laughter that spills out, like a weight lifted off her chest.

And he feels it too; she can tell by the way he looks back at her, eyes crinkled, head tilted, not even pretending to be offended.

The laughter, the amusement - it's good. They need this. They need to be reminded of how good they can be together, how much fun they can have. Somehow it's too easy to forget, too easy to focus on the bad rather than the good.

And that's not right, not when there is so much, _so much _good.

She brushes her hand against his when they move off the elevator, sparks of electricity flying between them, and Castle sneaks a warm look over his shoulder, hooks his pinky around hers. Good.

He doesn't let go, uses his right hand to fish for the keys in his pocket, work the locks open. "Nobody else is here," he tells her, and the words let loose a stream of relief in Kate's chest. She doesn't want anyone to see her like this, the rain that's pooled over the dried sweat, the misery of her day alone written on her face.

He pulls her into the loft after him, asking her to close the door, and then leads them towards the laundry room. Water splashes on the hardwood floors as they traipse through the living-room, leave an easy trail for whoever might come looking.

Kate closes her eyes and lets Castle guide her, taking a long breath to calm her anxious mind. The place smells like him, deodorant and the scent of his skin, and it suddenly hits her, how much she's missed this, how right it feels.

A whole day at her place, missing him, and now his scent is just-

home?

She exhales shakily; she's spent the day struggling against tears.

And while his loft smells like him, the laundry room - the laundry room is almost too much. The detergent he uses... She's never asked what it is, but the fragrance is all over his clothes, his sheets, all over him, and all she wants to do now is rest against the wall, stay there, be wrapped in it.

"Kate?"

Her eyes open, encounter the wide expanse of his bare chest. Oh. _Nice._

"You okay?" he asks, and she realizes she's been standing there, motionless, while he stripped out of his wet clothes. Kept the underwear on though, thank goodness. They need to talk. Another rain-soaked encounter, but this time, she's making a point to talk about it first.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she says, shaking her head slowly. "Just-"

His eyes are so blue, a hint of concern in them, and she smiles, her hesitation swept away by the need to give him this, like a gift. She steps closer. "It smells like you," she murmurs, resting a light hand on his chest, tracing the curve of his collarbone with a finger, his skin warm beneath the wet rain. "In here. It smells like you."

He watches her, doesn't say anything, hesitant understanding on the lines of his face.

She bites her lip, has to let the words out before she can think better of it. "And I missed it," she admits softly, her thumb at the hollow of his throat.

His hand comes up to cover hers, warm and sure, and he bends to get at her mouth, a kiss that's both gentle and deep, so much confidence in the slow touch of his tongue. Their lips part soundlessly, foreheads lingering close for a moment more, before Castle clears his throat.

"You've got clothes here, right?"

She nods, feels her mouth curl in a smirk. He _knows_ she does.

"Want me to go get you some, while you put all your damp stuff in the dryer?"

Good idea. "Sure," she says, eyeing him as he goes, the swell of muscle in his arms, the strong line of his back, dimples just above the waistband of his boxers.

"And, Castle?" she calls.

He turns back to her, that familiar arch to his eyebrow.

"Find me some underwear as well."

It's evil, she knows, but the flush of arousal on his face is oh, so worth it.

Gives her the confidence to do this right.

* * *

"So."

"So."

They're both in his study, fully clothed, since she's not going to indulge in sex until they've talked. Castle must feel the same; he turned away back in the laundry room, wouldn't so much as glance at her naked skin. It was...kinda sweet, actually.

Kate is perched against the back of his armchair, and Castle is leaning against his desk, the furniture separating them; she quickly understands that they both expect the other to go first. Awesome. How more awkward can they get?

She pushes a hand through her hair, snarling the still-wet curls with her fingers, and thinks of their conversation at the swings, of the things half-said. "We don't have the same idea of what gets shared," she says, her voice careful.

Castle's shoulders sag with the exhale he lets out. "Yeah, that."

"I think-" she starts, right when he says, "I just-"

Their eyes meet, and he chuckles, the amusement in his eyes mirrored in her own smile. At least they're on the same page, right?

They're both willing to put in the work.

"You first," he says, wriggling his eyebrows in invitation.

She takes a deep breath. Words, Kate. Use your words. _What gets shared._

"The thing is, Castle," she starts slowly. "It's not...natural, for me, to share things. You know that. I've directed my own life for so long now, and there was never anyone to inform. And I'm trying, I really am, but I-" Oh god, how does she say this?

"I don't _want_ you to be my whole life," she says, pulling her lip between her teeth, risking a glance at him. Yup, the hurt is there, flashing in his blue eyes. But what can she do? She owes him the truth. "And it's not because I don't love you," she adds, staring at him and leaning forward, hoping he'll understand. "It's because I'm - still trying to be more than... Because I can't depend completely on just one person. It's not - it's not healthy, Castle. If you're my life, if you're what I live for, and something happens to us, to you?"

He's silent, his eyes intent on her.

She needs him to understand. "What do I do then? How can I - keep on living without you, if you're my whole life, Rick?"

And here come the tears again, but she's stronger this time. She blinks them away.

"Kate." His voice is quiet, shocked, and suddenly he's at her side, kneeling on the armchair to get to her, her hand in both of his. "Kate."

"And I don't want it for you either, Castle. You have Alexis and Martha, and if - if something should happen to me - I need to know that you'd pull through, that you'd keep writing, that you'd keep-"

Her voice breaks; she clenches her teeth. This isn't what she meant to talk about, really.

"Beckett." The use of her last name jerks her, helps her find her breath. "You can't_ live_ like that. You can't live your life thinking of what might happen, of what terrible things might befall you. Because if you do that, then - you'll stay holed up in your apartment, alone and paralyzed forever-"

"It's not what I'm doing," she protests, winces at the rasp that comes out of her mouth. "Castle, you know it's not what I'm doing. This isn't about my mother's murder-"

"The hell it's not," he interrupts.

"Yeah, well, okay, maybe it's tied up with it, but it's because I've spent my adult life living for _her,_ and then trying to save my father's life when it's not my responsibility to save anyone, and I've just figured that out - I finally got it, how not to do that to myself."

His hands clench around hers, mouth opening, but she rushes on.

"Castle. It's not just that. It's - about balance. Balance in my life. Don't you want to be your own person, independent from me? And _don't-_" she puts a finger against his opening mouth "-don't answer with some romantic, Hallmark-card crap, Castle. Think about it. All that flowery, over the top stuff is fine and good, but it's not _healthy_. No one can be someone else's everything. No one should have to take on the responsibility of someone else's life. You're not my savior, Castle. And I'm not yours."

His lips curve into a smile under her hand and her heart flutters, like it always does at the warm regard of his eyes, bright and twinkling.

"What," she says, knocked off course by that look, if she ever really had a course.

He gently takes her finger from his mouth, puts it back in her lap. That annoying, superior little smirk is still playing on his face.

She braces herself.

"So basically, you want me to tell you you're not my everything," he says, that laughing hum to his voice.

Ugh. Trust Castle to-

"Fine," he shrugs, perfectly nonchalant as he gets up from the armchair, puts some distance between them. "You're not my everything, Kate. You're right. I had a life before you - my daughter, my mother, the mystery writers' crew. Telling a worthwhile story. The books. The parties. Okay, it could get a little shallow, but-"

"Castle," she cuts in, but he waves her off.

"No, I get it. I get that we're two separate human beings, Kate. I know I get a little carried away sometimes, and that's your fault for being so damn extraordinary, but... I don't need you so that I can exist, don't need you to save me," he says, his eyes serious now. "I don't need you so that I can be me, Kate. I need you as inspiration, as my muse-" Here she gets another goofy _see what I did there _grin. "-as the inspiration to be a better me..."

She bites on her lip, can't help the smile anymore than the eye-roll.

"But I _want you in my life_," he insists, eyes burning into hers. "My life is better with you in it, Kate. Yes, it can go on without you. It'd take some time, it would - do some damage. But I hope it doesn't have to."

She presses her lips together, tries to figure out what to say to that, how to...get the whole conversation back on track. He's hijacked their talk-

And apparently he just can't stop. "Of course," he goes on with a sigh and a somewhat repentant look, "wanting you in my life means that - I want to know what happens to you, Kate. And your job - your job is such a big part of who you are."

_Not anymore_, she almost says, but that might be true. "A job interview is hardly a job, Castle," she observes instead. "And I would have told you if it had been. Plus - I thought when I told you I was going to have to do something real, pick a direction and be active about it - that was sharing, that was what I meant."

He watches her for a handful of seconds, nods slowly. "Okay," he says, lips quirking into an almost smile. "Not gonna lie, I would've still liked to know about the interview, the specifics of _picking a direction, _but I can..."

"Do you know how long it's been?" she lifts her eyebrows as she asks. "Since the last time I went on a job interview, Castle?"

Awareness crosses his face.

"Yeah. A good long while. So I was nervous, and I kept it to myself, because sharing - it doesn't help, Castle. Not with me. It just makes me dwell on it. And I couldn't handle you getting all... excited. And. I still don't see what the big deal is," she admits quietly.

He opens his mouth, closes it. Sighs. "Okay. Okay. I can see that. I just..." He hesitates, comes close again, settling against the arm of the chair. "I want you to feel like you can tell me things, Kate. And when you fear my reaction won't be appropriate, you can just...tell me. Seriously. Tell me, _Castle, I'm telling you this, keep your feelings to yourself, I can't deal with them right now."_

Laughter tumbles out of her lips, and Kate rubs a finger to her forehead, can actually picture the scene.

"Honestly," he insists. "It might sting for a second, but I'll get over it. And I'd rather know, Kate. When it's important stuff like your job, I don't want to be left out."

Okay. Okay. She gives a single, slow nod, lets her fingers wrap around his neck. Her thumb brushes over his earlobe, and his eyes flutter shut for the briefest moment, open again, pools of serene blue.

"I'll try that," she says firmly, a promise. "But Castle, you also have to remember. When I don't tell you things, it's not because I'm trying to hurt you. It's because - well, either I think I _have_ told you, or I don't think it's that interesting."

He smiles at her, so joyful it makes her heart stutter. And then he leans towards her, puts his mouth to her ear. "But everything about you is interesting, Kate Beckett."

She hooks two fingers in the collar of his shirt, brings him close, mouths almost touching.

"You know that's ridiculous, so don't hold your breath, Castle."

"I'd suffocate?" he murmurs, a smirk in his voice, his lips brushing hers.

"Nope. You'd pass out first. Start breathing again."

"Then there's nothing to worry about."

She sighs, but captures his mouth, his unrelenting optimism, and hopes that's true. Let it be true.

_We can make it true._

There's nothing to worry about.


	85. 86: Monday

**86**

* * *

He wakes to coffee - decadent, overpowering - and disorientation. He feels upside down and crowded, his body flushed with heat, unable to move.

Castle grunts and warmth shifts around him, flows, liquid and soft, and he opens his eyes.

"Morning," she whispers, and she ducks in close to brush her lips across his forehead.

She is somehow wrapped around him. He's on his side of the bed, but she's in the middle, her arm hooked around his neck with her palm on his chest. He feels her knee at his back so that he's lying on her drawn up leg, half in her lap.

"What are you doing?" he murmurs, blinking up at her.

"Saying hi." Kate smirks, but it's a softer thing. She turns her head and sips at her coffee, lips kissing the mug, and Castle suddenly feels her hand at his chest, her thumb rubbing over and over in the hollow of his throat.

He thought those were just dreams. She really did wrestle him into her lap sometime early this morning, and then murmured her love to him as he fell back asleep.

Weird.

Beautiful. Look how beautiful she is, her hair wild around her head, her mouth in a wide smile as she looks at him. Her thumb lifts and strokes the edge of his eyebrow, and she leans down to kiss his lips, strange and wonderful.

When she lifts again, she curls her arm back around his shoulders, her knees at either side of him and squeezing.

"What time is it?" he asks, his voice a croak. It's possible he shouted last night. She just - yeah. She's amazing.

"It's ten," she says, and leans over to place her mug on his bedside table. He turns his head to watch, feels her chest pressing against his cheek, and even as he wishes he _hadn't_ turned his head, he sees a glass of water and another mug there on the table.

She brought him coffee and a glass of water, like he usually has beside his bed.

Wait. "Ten?" He moves to sit up, stunned, but she holds him down with her arm at his chest, draws her other leg up to hook around his hip. "Kate. It's ten."

"You needed some sleep," she says. "I think I wore you out."

Despite the flash of heat that goes through him at her casual words, he still can't help the astonishment.

"But why are _you_ still in bed?" Even on vacation, the latest he could keep her here was nine. And every other day it was seven, and she was up to run or swim in the pool or eat breakfast on the back deck.

When she finally answers, her fingers curl along his collarbone, up his ribs, stroking to his sternum. "Wanted to start the day with you."

Oh.

Castle lifts his hand and covers hers over his heart, brings her palm up to his lips to brush a kiss against her skin.

She was waiting for him. Waiting to start a new day.


	86. 87: Tuesday

**87**

* * *

"Hey, Kate!"

She startles, coffee sloshing onto her thumb. At least it's mostly lukewarm. She's been up for a while. A good long while. She should have gone home last night, come back this morning, but she couldn't make herself leave.

Kate turns her head at the kitchen island to look at Castle, sucks the coffee from her hand. "What?"

"We should do this. Let's do this! Wouldn't it be fun?"

He's pushing the newspaper over to her and tapping the page. The Comic Factory. "Wasn't that where Bobby Mann was the night he died?"

"Yeah, but - it's - okay, ignore that for a second. Look who's headlining tonight at eight."

She lifts an eyebrow and shakes her head at him, but reads the line up. "Donald Glover. Oh wow, isn't he old for stand-up-"

"Ka-ate. Seriously?"

She opens her mouth, watches his face hovering somewhere between horrified and ecstatic. Can't be the guy from those movies with Mel Gibson, then, can it? "Not Lethal Weapon."

"That's Danny Glover. Donald Glover is from _Community_, and he's got a band, Childish Gambino. We should go to this tonight. He's hilarious."

Kate sips at her coffee, shrugging at him. "Sure, Castle. Fine with me."

"No. Not acceptable. You need to have more enthusiasm than that. This is Donald Glover. The guy who-"

"Castle. You know I don't get a chance to watch much television. I-"

Suddenly he's hustling her off the bar stool and manhandling her through the living room towards his study. "You gotta watch. I have them on my DVR. Tons of episodes. Kate. Kate. You're gonna love-"

"Castle," she warns with a huff of breath, letting him hustle her into the armchair set up in front of his desk. "You and I don't always agree on what's funny."

"I have realistic expectations. I promise. You're gonna love it. It's smart funny."

She lifts an eyebrow, but lets him turn on the television, find his show from the list. He's eager and happy and his hair is sticking out over his forehead because after he showered she might have possibly ran her fingers through it again and again, and then she might have taken him back to bed.

Even through her passive silence, Castle's joy is undimmed. He's still grinning at her over his shoulder as he starts the first episode, and then he wriggles his eyebrow and comes for her in the chair, dropping down.

"Oof," she mutters. "We don't both fit-"

"Sure we can. Scoot your butt over."

"It is over."

He digs his arm behind her and bodily picks her up, worming his way into the armchair and then depositing her on his lap. She rolls her eyes at him, but curls her knees up and sits with him, tight and close, smiles at the feel of his lips and teeth nibbling at her neck.

"I thought you wanted to watch your show."

"No. I want you to watch my show. While I watch you."

"You're kissing me, Castle."

"Kissing might also be involved."

"Hm."

"Hush. Watch."

* * *

_We are forty lightyears outside of the Buttermilk Nebula although it's possible that. . .yeah, it's a sticker._

At that Kate laughs so hard she nearly falls off the chair; Castle takes it as a perfect opportunity to slide both arms around her, grinning and pleased with how much she likes it, and he pulls her back farther into his lap.

"Get outta my chair, Castle." But she's laughing still and wriggling her ass into his thigh, her bone digging in sharply. He gasps and shifts, giving her more room, while the episode runs.

"You wanna see his stand-up tonight?"

"Yeah," she answers, leaning back against his chest and hooking an arm around his neck. "Should be fun."

He's grinning at her, preparing to stand up and shove her off his lap, just to be funny, when she suddenly presses her lips against the hinge of his jaw, her hair soft at his ear. Castle goes still, made immobile by the lightness of her touch, and then she pulls back, watches him for a moment, and comes in again to brush her lips just under his eye.

His thighs clench, his body stiff as she moves in, her mouth delicate and tracing the line of his nose. Castle lets out a ragged breath, feels her body rocking into him, her lips pressing to his eyelid.

"Kate," he whispers, his fingers clutching at her hip, the back of one knee.

Her body unfurls over his; she rises up with her legs bracketing him like parentheses, the back of her hands at his abdomen and drifting.

Her mouth skims his, careful sips, and he tries to be good, tries to take it and wait on her, wait for whatever it is she wants to do, but he can't help sliding his hands along the back of her thighs, cupping her, bringing her flush to chest with the force of his movement.

She groans and her breath is hot at his cheek, her mouth wet now when it lands at his temple, the corner of his eye, scattered shots that make his guts clench.

"Castle," she husks, her voice entirely out of control, raspy and low and doing terrible things to his insides. "Castle, touch me."

Oh yes.

* * *

She makes them late.

She makes them late and she can't feel sorry about it, can't even care when he looks at her like that, adoring and demanding all at the same time.

"Again," he said to her, and she couldn't stop, didn't want to stop, and so she's made them late. Or he has. Together, they're late.

He buys the tickets at will-call and she can't even pay attention to how expensive they are because she's still thrumming, still feeling that tingle in her fingertips, along her lips.

"Come on, Kate. What are you doing?" he says, tugging on her hand, halfway towards the double doors.

She won't tell him she's daydreaming about him, _can't_ tell him. Instead, she hurries after Castle and into the theatre's brick-walled lobby, her hand twitching around his, not sure she's with it enough to enjoy the comedian.

They find seats at a back table to one side, lost in shadows. His hand uncurls from hers as he pulls out her chair; she sits and waits for him to claim the one at her side, then leans in close to his warmth in the cool air of the club.

They order drinks and he adds an appetizer, artichoke dip and pita chips, gives her a flashing grin, his eyes so blue in the darkness. She can't help herself, leans in and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, brushes her thumb over the spot as he tilts his head, half-questioning, half not questioning it.

"You like artichoke dip that much?"

"No," she laughs, rolling her eyes at him. Lame, Castle. "Just you. But you know that."

"Yeah," he grins, entirely too smug.

The emcee interrupts their nice moment with a shrieking mic and a burst of welcomes. Kate turns away from Castle, reluctantly, but drops her hand on his thigh.

For later.

* * *

She's feisty.

Ung. Really, he wants to take her by that hot hand and drag her into the bathroom really quickly, just get it out of his system, but he knows it wouldn't work. It wouldn't do a thing to assuage the need; he'd want her all over again.

And she doesn't even mean it.

Well, okay, he could quickly convince her to mean it, but she's just being - unconsciously sexy. She's just leaning in, her fingers stroking, dancing, caressing. She's not trying to tease; she just is.

After a while, the edginess is impossible to sustain, and jeez, it's not like they didn't _just_ do this a couple hours ago. His body finally gives up the fight and he slumps back into his seat, taking a breath, able to concentrate on the warm-up guy.

When Donald Glover comes on stage around eleven, Kate turns to him with that wide, brilliant grin and leans in to put her mouth to his ear.

"Thanks for this," she says, her voice undercutting the laughter and the mic both. "Thanks for making me laugh."

And he gets that she doesn't just mean tonight, today, but a few days ago in the rain, and in bed yesterday, and at the precinct as well. Making her job easier.

Making her life-

"So much richer this way," she says, and her palm strokes down his jaw before she turns back to the stage.


	87. 88: Wednesday

**88**

* * *

"Stop touching me."

She bites her lip and raises an eyebrow, trails her fingers-

"Stop touching me, Beckett; you're making it hard to-"

She bursts into laughter at his unintended double entendre, rolls off of him and back onto her side of the bed. He's growling, as if he doesn't think it's funny, and she shoves at his thigh with her foot.

"Get out of my bed, Castle. Go home."

"Finally. Jeez. It's like you kidnapped me."

"Poor thing. Holding you against your will?" she murmurs, turning onto her stomach and curling her pillow under her head, closing her eyes. Still so early.

"Not hardly," he says and she feels his hand at her neck, followed by his mouth at her cheek. "Need handcuffs for that."

She huffs a laugh at him, turning her head to find his kiss, opening her eyes to the grin on his face. "Ever tried it with handcuffs, Castle? Chafes like a bi-"

"That's what padded handcuffs are for, Beckett. I thought you knew that."

"Where's the fun in that?" she smirks, captures his melodramatic surprise with another open-mouthed kiss, drinking it down.

"I gotta go. Stop kissing me."

"Get out of my bed."

"Stop looking at me like I'm delicious."

Kate laughs again, drawing her knee up to pry him off her back, getting her toes at his ribs. "Go, go, go. Alexis - breakfast. Go."

"Ug. Gross."

"Go," she says, softer this time, turning onto her back to crook an arm around his neck. Kate pulls him back down, a gentle brush of their mouths, rising up to meet him.

"You said go," he whispers, his fingers tracing the edge of her eyebrow, back to her temple, into her hair.

"Do as I say, not as I do," she sighs.

He goes.

* * *

"Go," he says, finding her at the sink in his bathroom.

"Yeah, yeah-"

"Go, Beckett. You said you needed to be out of here by ten. It's almost eleven."

"I'm going," she promises.

Rick raises an eyebrow at her and comes up behind her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She flicks water into the basin and reaches for the handtowel. Castle stands at her back, presses his palms against her shoulders, feeling her muscles work as she dries her hands.

He touches his mouth to her neck, her scent wafting up to him. "It's late, Beckett."

"I know. I need to go," she says, but she's suddenly so very still.

"Your dad in the morning?" He rubs his palms down her arms, brushes lightly at her forearms, circles her wrists.

She flexes her fingers and catches his, twining them together, and then her hips bump back into his. "What?" Her eyes are distracted and intense when she meets his in the mirror.

He smiles and dips down to her neck, tastes the soap on her skin. She wanted to shower but said she didn't have the time, ran a washcloth under water and washed her face. She tastes clean and sexy at the same time.

"Castle," she sighs.

"You need to go," he urges, stepping back.

But she comes with him, their fingers still laced together, her body warm. She wraps their arms around her waist, turns her head to brush a kiss to his cheek. "I have to go."

"Stop draping me over you, and I bet it'd make it easier to leave."

She hums and kisses him again. He leans into it, looking to devour her mouth, but suddenly she's escaped his arms and twisted around, their hands still tangled, Kate grinning at his surprise.

"I really gotta go. Dad wants me to meet him at eight tomorrow."

"That's entirely too early."

"For you."

"For me," he gives her, shaking his hands free of hers. "Go."

"I'm going. If you'd stop ambushing me."

"Probably not going to happen," he says, faking chagrin, gives her an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. But he's not sorry.

"You're unrepentant," she observes. "And so sure of yourself."

"I'm also pretty sure that if you don't get your ass out of my loft, I'm gonna have to send you home in the car service. Just to assuage my conscience."

"Jeez, you don't have to threaten me. I'm going," she says, eyes wide, poking her finger at his shoulder.

"Poking is kissing," he warns her. "You know that. And you know what comes next."

She cracks a smile at that, rolling her eyes. "Only to you, Castle."

"Hey, I always took what I could get." He darts down to her mouth for a quick peck, steps back to push her away.

"Come on," she mutters. "I deserve better than that. Give me a real kiss."

He grins and does it again, a quick bump of his lips, pulls back before she can make him stay. She huffs at him and slides her arm around his neck.

"One more. Try again."

He can't help the light smack of his lips into hers, tugging back against her hand curled tightly at his neck.

"How am I supposed to leave when you won't even kiss me right?" she complains, and then draws in closer, nudging his hip with hers. Suddenly her eyes grow dark, her voice, when it comes, throaty and serious. "Kiss me for real, Castle. Kiss me good-bye."

His breath catches, but he lowers his head and slants his lips over hers. He pushes at the seam of her mouth and is allowed inside, stroking slowly, his hands cupping her cheeks, their bodies hovering close.

When they finally part, she rests her forehead to his, her breath faltering.

He feels her lashes against his cheek as she turns her head; he gently pushes her back.

"Go home, Kate."

She goes.


	88. 89: Thursday

**89**

* * *

Castle is sitting at the kitchen island, reading the paper and sipping the last of his coffee, when his daughter comes in.

"Hey, Alexis," he greets distractedly, his eyes flicking up for the briefest second.

"Hi, Dad," she answers, her voice a little breathless. The way it gets when she's embarrassed and trying to hide it.

Maybe that's what alerts him; or maybe his brain has finally processed what he's just seen. Rick's head jerks up, and he twists on the stool, pins his retreating kid to the middle of the living-room with his unhappy-dad glare.

"Alexis. Did you just come in through the front door?"

She winces. At least his daughter isn't any good at being deceptive. "Uh, yes?"

He lifts his eyebrows, and immediately the rest comes spilling out of her.

"I was only at the morgue with Dr. Parish, Dad. She called me at 2am because she was working on this really interesting case, and asked if I wanted to come, and I wasn't going to say no, you know? But she - she sent me home just now, said I had to get some sleep."

Alexis sounds pretty frustrated, but that's not what he's worried about right now.

"And where is my note?" he says, gesturing to the counter, empty but for his coffee cup and the paper. "Where is the note telling me where you were?"

She presses her lips together, blushes prettily. He suddenly sees the woman, the beautiful young woman she's going to be - already is - and his heart twists in his chest. So soon-

"I'm sorry, Dad, I forgot. I just - I was in a hurry, and I only remembered once I was in the car. But I ordered a chauffeur and everything, see? I wasn't in any danger. And besides, when I'm in college it's not like you'll always know where I am-"

"Alexis. Unless I missed something, you're not in college yet." He's not letting go of his. Hell no. "And I just spent the whole morning thinking you were upstairs, asleep, safe. Do you know how I would have felt if something had happened while you were out, and I didn't even know it?"

"But nothing happened!" she objects, coming closer now, clutching his hand between hers. "Nothing happened, Dad. I'm fine."

"As long as you live under my roof, you follow my rules. Even if it's only for another month. So next time, leave a note. Or send me a text, I don't care-"

"I would have," she quickly explains, apology in her clear blue eyes. "But my phone died on me. And I was going to borrow Lanie's, but then I just...forgot. I'm sorry."

"Hey," he says gently, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, brushing a kiss to her flaming hair. "It's okay this once. Just - don't do it again."

"I won't," she promises softly, but it's not just regret clouding her face. It's a bone-deep weariness that he's not sure has anything to do with their conversation.

He tilts his head at her. "You okay, pumpkin?"

"Yeah," she sighs. "Yeah, I just..." She shakes her head, pushes her hair back in a way that reminds him of Kate. "Don't you get tired, sometimes? Of all the death, all the...murders. I mean, I love working with Dr. Parish - she's terrific, and I've learned a lot, and I don't want to stop, but-"

When her voice trembles, breaks, Castle slides off the stool so he can wrap his little girl into a bear hug, put the strength of his arms between her and the ugliness of the world. This is exactly why he didn't want her working at the morgue.

"The woman today," Alexis starts again, sounding stronger with her cheek to his chest. "She was young, not even thirty. Stabbed. The detectives said it looked like a mugging. But when Lanie opened her up - oh, Dad. She was pregnant. Only two months along, so it didn't show, and I just..."

Rick closes his eyes, rocks his daughter against him. What is there to say?

But after a moment Alexis puts her hands to his chest, pushes away so she can see his face. "Don't you get tired of it? I mean they're all dead, and there's nothing you can do...it's already too late."

"That's not true," he says, cups her face in his palms. "You can try and figure out what happened to them, pumpkin. Give the gift of truth to their families, a memorial, a final good-bye. Closure. It matters. Knowing why matters. But you're right; sometimes people do get weary, and they don't investigate so well then. So you take a break, go home and sleep," he says pointedly.

She sighs. "Yeah, yeah. Sleep. But the trail goes cold - that's what Lani says. The longer you wait, the colder it gets. So I wish I could just stay, _do_ something. Make a difference."

"That's why I never wanted to give up my work with Kate-"

"I bet Kate doesn't get tired, doesn't stop, does she?" Alexis's voice oscillates between awe and disbelief. He smiles.

"Oh, no, she gets tired. I know she does. But even then, Kate always gives everything she has. Her victims matter to her, and she's...she's never satisfied until she gets to the truth. Not just a plausible explanation, not just a story that makes sense, but the hard-evidence truth. I think, somehow, it makes it right again. Or as right as it can be when someone has been murdered."

His daughter watches him for a few seconds, hesitates. "She was a really good cop, wasn't she?"

The past tense hits him harder than he'd like. "She was," he agrees noncommittally.

"Do you think she'll go back?"

Castle sucks in a deep breath, unsure what to say to that. "I don't know, Alexis. It doesn't seem very - likely."

"Why not?"

O-kay. Tread lightly here, Rick. "Maybe this is a conversation you should have with Kate, pumpkin."

His daughter shrugs. "I just wanna know what _you_ think."

Ha. What he thinks. Does he even know himself? "I think... I think that Kate's decision to become a cop was very much tied to her mother's death, and she - doesn't believe she can be a detective and not...pursue that case."

"But she dropped it, right? She made that decision. So why couldn't she keep helping people, making it right, like you said-"

"Alexis, this is for Kate to decide. If she doesn't trust herself with it, if she'd rather be away from the precinct the next time something - a lead, a name - comes up, then we have to respect that."

Incomprehension dances in her blue eyes. "But you want her to go back, don't you?"

Whoa.

He stares at her, open-mouthed, wondering where _that _came from. Did he give her that impression? God, does Kate think- ?

"I... No," he protests, shaken. "No, Alexis. What I want is for Kate to be happy. To be...whole. And if that means she's never going back to the 12th - that's fine by me," he finishes, relieved to find how much he means it. "It's not my choice to make, Alexis."

"But-"

He hushes her gently, kisses her forehead, pushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. "Lanie's right, sweetheart. You should get some rest. And if this still bothers you when you wake up, then talk to Kate, okay? She's the best person to ask these questions."

"All right," Alexis reluctantly agrees. "Night, Dad." She rises on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek, then heads for the stairs; he watches her disappear with a heavy heart.

The talk about Kate going back to the precinct has made him restless.

And he's not even sure why.

* * *

Kate uses her key and goes on inside, not sure where Castle is, but he texted her to say she should just come on in.

Alexis is there, slung over the couch, a blanket pulled up around her ears, her laptop on her chest, but her eyes aren't focused on the screen.

"Hey," Kate greets her, concerned by the slothness in Alexis's posture. Defeat. Something. "You okay?"

"Dad's at Black Pawn."

Kate laughs a little and sinks down at Alexis's feet. "I didn't ask where your dad was. Asked how you were."

"Oh," Alexis says, startling a little. "Yeah. I'm okay. Just. I want to go back in to work with Lanie but she's ordered me away until four. Eight hours off she said."

Kate reaches out and snags Alexis's foot. "Your dad told me you went in at two?"

"Yeah."

"Lanie is right. You should sleep while you can."

"I guess you're used to that, right? Sleeping where you can, when you can. I'm not tired though. I got a nap and now I want to go back."

Kate checks her father's watch. "Well. An hour. You can make it."

"How do you do it?" Alexis says, sitting up and shoving her computer to the floor.

"Sleep-?"

"No. How do you _not_ think about work? About the 12th or all the cases you're not able to help with or all you're missing? Right now all I want to do is get back there, and this isn't even a calling or a crusade for me like it is for-"

Alexis suddenly stops, staring at her.

Kate feels it shift in her, like something that had been asleep only a month ago is stretching again, stirring, shaking her off. Wanting control again. And it scares her how enticing it is to just - let it loose.

"Kate," Alexis says quietly. "I'm sorry. That was - I wasn't thinking. Obviously, I didn't get enough sleep. Lanie's right; I should get real rest so I don't-"

"It's okay," Kate says, her voice low. As if she's trying to pitch it below the threshold of the beast's hearing, keep it mollified and unable to wreak havoc if it just doesn't know.

"It is?" Alexis lets out a long breath and draws her knees up to her chest. "It gets stuck in my head. All I think about is trying to figure it out, find that one clue, that missing piece that makes it all fit. It's like this terrible combination of my dad's need for everything to have a good story, the right ending, and my own meticulous perfectionist. . .whatever. I don't know."

"That's why you need time off," Kate says. And yes, she realizes that's the _pot_ and _kettle_, but it's still the truth. Still the right advice.

"I guess you've banked up a lot of time off," Alexis says with a little laugh. "The way you went at it. And my Dad too."

"That's a good way of looking at it," Kate agrees, smiling a little at the young woman. "After all this time working, yeah. But it's more than just taking time off, Alexis. I'm - done."

"I can't imagine - I mean, obviously, I believe you, but I mean. I just work in the morgue; I don't do anything really. But I'm still so sucked into it. These people's lives, their stories, the strange way they died or the terrible way they died. . .and this is the last place, their last shot at their lives having meaning, one last moment. . ."

Kate keeps her mouth shut, lets Alexis talk. Because it's not about her, is it? She knows the feeling, but it's no longer about her.

"Don't you want to go back?" Alexis says suddenly. "Detective Ryan told Lanie that your captain still has your name on the board. You're still employed by the NYPD-"

"No."

"No, I mean, I know you said you quit, but she didn't accept it, I guess. Or something. Detective Ryan said that your time's up in like two weeks. You could go back then. You've had a good long rest, you know? And now you're-"

"No," Kate says again, shaking her head and moving to rise off the couch. Alexis reaches forward and snags her hand.

"I'm sorry. I'm being - it's not my business."

"Actually," Kate says, carefully weighing her words as she looks down at Castle's daughter. "Actually, it is your business. Isn't it? So. Okay. Let me try to explain."

It's Alexis's family too, right? First. It was Alexis's family first, and Kate has done this to her too. So she deserves the best explanation that Kate can make, to prove herself. Prove she's not the same woman that Alexis couldn't trust.

"Kate, you don't have to-"

"Yes, I do." She lowers herself back down on the couch, glances over at Alexis who is sitting cross-legged, her elbows on her knees, her eyes intent. Yes, she does owe Alexis an explanation. So she needs to do this right.

"Why won't you go back?" the young woman says suddenly. "They broke into your apartment, Kate. They're out there still. . .still doing bad stuff and wrecking people's lives and-"

"Because they wrecked mine," Kate interrupts, starting there. "They wrecked mine one night, and I won't let them wreck it again, take anyone else from me."

Alexis opens her mouth, closes it, her frown etched deep. Kate waits and the girl finally comes up with it. "But they could still wreck it. They're still out there."

"But if I stay away, then it won't go any further. They broke in and took all the information I had on my mother's case. Cleaning up, I guess, or warning me off. Fine. They want some old pictures and notes? They can have it all. Just leave me this."

"This."

Kate swallows hard. "My life. With your dad."

Alexis's jaw drops, bright color flushing her cheeks; she averts her eyes, stares off into the distance. But Kate won't - won't deny it. It's the choice she made; she will make it again and again, every day, no matter what the ghost of her old obsession whispers to her at night in the darkness.

She wakes up; she chooses this.

"You-" Alexis's voice is hesitant and Kate turns her head to look at the girl. Her fingers are picking at the blanket. "You know Dad wouldn't ask you to do that. Trade your job for him. He'd follow you. Anywhere. And I know. . .Kate if it's me you're worried about. . .I know you'd keep him safe. I know that you'd do whatever it took to save his life. I believe that."

Kate's throat works to swallow past that. "I made him promise - promise never to jump in front of a bullet for me again."

"You what?" Alexis gives a startled breath out.

"It's not just you, Alexis. Not just you I'm worried about. I'm worried about me. I don't - I'm not sure I could come back from that. If he died because of me."

Alexis is staring at her, mouth open as if she has things to say that just won't come out.

Kate nods slowly, turns her head away from the young woman, tries to smile. "But that's not something either of us has to think about. Castle - your dad won't ever be in that position. You're right - he'd follow me there, if I went. But I'm not going, Alexis. I'm not going, because he deserves more than that. Because _I _ deserve more than that."

She moves to stand; she needs a moment to get hold of the maelstrom that's risen up in her, needs just a few minutes to get herself together again, but Alexis grabs her hand, snags it with a fierce grip.

Kate looks back.

"He made his choice," Alexis says quickly, her hand tightening like she's afraid Kate will yank it away. "A while ago. He made _you_ his choice. Even when it's dangerous, you're still his choice. You know?"

But did he?

Or did he walk out on her and ask her to choose instead?

* * *

When Castle jostles his key out of the lock and finally looks up, he sees Kate in his kitchen. Making dinner.

"Hey," she glances at him, goes back to it.

He shuts the door. "Hey," he says back, finally getting his feet to work, push him towards her. "What - what are you doing?"

"I had some time," she shrugs, draining water out of a pot. One hand holds the lid to the pot, the other tilts it over the sink, steam billowing out and masking her expression.

"What are you making?"

"Just spaghetti," she says, giving him the flash of a smile, lifting her eyes to him. "Oh. And Alexis went in to the morgue again?"

"Yeah, I knew she was going back."

"Oh good," she sighs, then puts the pot on a trivet and runs water in the sink. He watches her snap off the burner under the sauce, then stir with a spoon, and he realizes he's half mesmerized by her being in his kitchen.

"Oh," he says, suddenly remembering. "Alexis might ask you about work-"

"Already did."

"Oops. Meant to give you a heads up."

She shrugs, her back to him as she pulls down plates from his cabinet. "Don't worry about it."

He realizes he still has his laptop slung over his shoulder, his keys in hand, shoes on. Castle drops his stuff on the couch, feeling the day on his skin, in his clothes, but he toes off his shoes and heads into the kitchen. "So what. . .did you guys talk about?"

Kate turns around and hands him a plate, starts dishing noodles out of the pot. "I don't know. Just. The job."

"You know I have a strainer."

"Colander? I couldn't find it," she laughs, lifting her eyes to him again and it's okay. It's good. She's fine. Quiet, but that's usual. She doesn't fill the silences with words; that's his job.

So he'll do his job. "Do I need to give you a kitchen tutorial?"

"No," she smirks. "I'll leave the kitchen duties to you."

"Oh, really. Thanks. What happened to partners?" he grumbles, nudging her aside to get at the spaghetti noodles.

"What happened to waiting your turn?" she says, backing into him and edging him out.

Castle laughs at her, draws his arm around her shoulders to press his mouth to her jaw. Instead of a kiss, he blows a raspberry at her neck, making her startle, her spaghetti sloshing on the plate. He laughs against her, breathless, and she reaches back to pinch his ear.

"Ow."

"How old are you?" she complains, but there's unwilling laughter in her voice.

"So. The job. What did you guys say? You talked about me, didn't you? I can tell. It always comes back to me."

She escapes his grip and rolls her eyes at him, but she's got that tell, that slight hesitation of her gaze meeting his, and he laughs.

"You _did_ talk about me. I knew it."

"Only obliquely."

"Right."

"Well, what else are we going to talk about?" she huffs, shoving on his shoulder to move past him. He watches her grab a piece of toasted french bread from the pan on the stovetop, takes one himself.

"True. I'm pretty much the only game in town." He takes a big bite of bread. Wow. Good. She put parmesan and garlic salt on it. Something.

She huffs a laugh, giving him a look as she heads for the table. "Having sex with you is so bad for your ego. I don't know why I-"

"Hey now. No need for threats, Beckett."

She smirks, a lift of an eyebrow, and sits down at her spot, drawing up one knee as she starts in on her spaghetti. He quickly finishes making his own and comes to sit with her. She reaches out and brushes her fingers over his wrist as he settles in, rubs her thumb at the bone there. He notices she's already put glasses of water at their places, takes a sip to swallow down the bread.

"I meant - me needing a new career is kinda directly related to you, Castle."

He goes still, staring at her. "It is? No, it isn't."

She shrugs, but she's gazing down at his wrist, at her fingers circling him. "You said it. If I love you, I drop it."

His mouth opens, but only horror is there, choking him.

"I dropped it. Well, it took me a while. I had to go at it alone just to see - had to come up against Maddox and have it violently shoved in my face just how - how alone I was in this, how everyone dies, everyone, but I did get it-"

"Kate," he interrupts, voice strong but strangled. "Kate, not - that's not - I didn't ask you to quit."

She lifts her eyes to him, brow furrowed. "What else is there?"

He sits back and it pulls his wrist from her touch, but he's just - stunned. "Your job isn't your mother's case. Your mother's case doesn't encompass your whole job. You didn't have to _quit._"

Now it's her turn to just stare at him, wordless.

"Kate," he breathes out, sitting forward and grabbing her by the hand. "Please don't do that to us, don't put that on me. Don't mistake me asking you to _not_ commit certain suicide by being foolish about going after a _sniper_, as being the same as asking you to not be a cop. It's not the same thing. Not at all."

"What else is there?" she asks again, and he doesn't know what it is he sees in her eyes, but it doesn't look good.

"Kate. Kate, jeez, there's - we could have done it so differently. You could have passed the case on to Ryan and Espo, told Gates, pushed it off on an entirely different team. We could have just dropped it, ignored it, sent it to a different precinct. We could have kept it out of the 12th altogether and done it on our own-"

"No."

"It would have been-"

"No," she says again, shaking her head, and reaching out for his wrist again, encircling, her fingers cold but strong. "No, Castle. Doing it on our own is out of the question. We'd both have been in the crosshairs. I can't believe you didn't paint a target on your back just being in touch with-" She stops and shakes her head, squeezing his wrist. Hard.

It's possible she's still not over that - his role in keeping it from her.

But he wants her to know. Needs her to know. "Kate, anything you wanted to do - I'd have done it with you. Anything but watch you throw your life away, start a _war_ without even a backward glance. I couldn't do that. But-"

"I know," she says, her voice low, her eyes on his. "I know, Castle. I got it. I don't want a war-"

"_But_. But I was not asking you to quit your job, Kate. I'm not asking that of you now. I don't want that between us. You hear me? If you want to be a detective, damn it, you better be a detective."

She watches him and he hopes there's not a shred of anything on his face but certainty. And how much he loves her.

"Kate. I'd follow you anywhere. Any job, any city, any _life_. So long as it was life you were choosing."

"That's exactly it, Castle. You keep following me. I can't lead you back into that."

He sighs but she's lifting up from her chair and using her foot to nudge his backward, sliding into his lap before he can think or move, her body flush to his, hot and eager to convince him.

She kisses like she imagines a day where she won't be allowed to do it again, her hips rocking into him, and he kisses her back and tries to let his touch explain it all.

She'll always have him.

"Always, always," he finds himself murmuring into her mouth.

She pauses and brushes her fingers through his hair. "It's just you, Castle. Just you. I only want you."

"Yeah, but what do you need?"

She tilts back, and even though her eyes are sad, she shakes her head, draws her fingers down to his cheek, cradling him.

"I don't know. But this is part of it, the best part. The only part I'm certain about. Us."


	89. 90 Friday

**90**

* * *

"Where are we going?" he says, following her out of the cab. He pays the driver, turns around to find Kate waiting on him, her hand out. He takes it with a smile, but instead of Kate moving off and tugging him with her, she steps into him and lifts her free hand, runs a finger down his lips.

"Place I know. Just for you."

Whoa. Wait. Was that - was that her Russian accent?

"Kate?"

She lifts on her toes to kiss him, her finger still there as if for guidance, and he finds himself breathless and aroused with just that little touch. And the accent. Was it an accent? Is she-

He has no idea.

What follows is probably the most erotic thing he's ever seen Kate do with all of her clothes on.

Cafe Glechik. Little Odessa.

And yes. That is a Russian accent.

Oh fuck, he's gone.

He is so gone.

* * *

Castle is all over her.

She hooks her leg over his knee in the back of the cab, his hands touching, massaging, petting, as if he doesn't know what to do first, how to do it. She brushes her thigh against him and shifts closer; he leans into her and groans at her ear.

"You're killing me."

"That was the intent," she murmurs back, smiling at him. The cab takes them out of Brooklyn, but it's lunch hour traffic, and they have a ways to go. She's just glad he was so distracted by her that he didn't hear the next address.

He leans in close to her, his mouth at her cheek. "I don't think I ate a thing. You're gonna have to feed me later."

"Why didn't you eat?" she laughs, nudging his nose with hers, breathing in his scent, the sharp tang of arousal and the musk of his soap. She touches her tongue to his skin and he grunts, squeezes her thigh with both hands.

"Gotta stop that. You have to - you can't-"

"Not sorry," she laughs, smiling against him. "After last night, you asked for it."

"I honestly didn't know it was driving you-"

"I _said_ I couldn't take-"

"I thought you were just - I don't know - stroking my ego or something."

She rolls her eyes but even at the memory, her body thrums, awareness making her skin tighten, her hips cant into him.

He laughs, his hand trailing down her side even as her breath hitches.

"Castle," she mutters, hiding her face in his shoulder. "Not in the cab."

His fingers keep going.

"Seriously. Anywhere else, almost. Almost anywhere. Just not here."

"Are you giving me an IOU?" he gasps.

She snatches his hand and pulls it away from her side. "Yes. IOU. Anytime you like. Just not in a _cab_, Castle. It's disgusting. And the driver doesn't want to see that. Or he does. Either way. Disgusting."

"This is awesome. This is clearly the best day of my life."

She does laugh at that, his goofy and yet so-earnest grin breaking the tension in her body and letting her lift against him, place her mouth at that smile with a sweet kiss.

"You're crazy."

"So are you. Perfect match."

* * *

She spoke Russian their whole lunch, even to him, so he honestly has no idea what she talked about all meal long, but it was hot.

It was ho-o-o-o-ot. Hot. Ung. She's hot.

She's hot.

She could've been talking about food preparation or dismantling her weapon (oh, shit, please. _please_ let her have been talking about handling her gun), or anything really, at all, and he would've sat there rapt.

"What were you saying?" he asks, even as the cab turns a corner and starts pulling up to the curb. "Back there in Cafe Glechik."

She laughs at him, shrugs. "That's for me to know."

"Oh, come on."

She leans forward to pay, but he snags her wrist and does it himself; Kate just gets out of the car, letting him.

He follows her, and there she is on the sidewalk, hand out, fingers wriggling for his. He grins and takes her hand, still replaying the sexy Beckett voice in his head.

"Were you talking dirty? I saw some interesting looks from patrons in there-"

She bursts out into laughter, slides in close to him as she nudges him down the sidewalk. "Of course not, Castle. Everyone in there spoke Russian. That would've been-"

"Hot. Leave me my illusions," he pouts, but he can't maintain it. Because even if she was detailing the contents of her fridge, it was in Russian. And it was hot.

And the food - what little he managed to shove into his gaping mouth - was excellent.

"We need to go back," he says.

And then she parts those smiling lips and it rolls over him like heat, like a wave of heat (yes, he's corny, and referencing his own work, but holy hell, she is hot), and whatever it is she says, in Russian, it just-

and then she drops into English, with that heavy accent, her lips curling, her eyes inviting him closer, her finger trailing up his shirt buttons slowly.

"Richard. You think you keep it together, yes?"

"No," he breathes and crowds into her right there on the sidewalk, claims that hot, sultry mouth with his own. She kisses him back hard, her body struggling as if she's trying to get infinitely closer; he hooks his arms around her back and lifts.

She gasps, stiffening, and he lets go, her body sliding down his, and they both groan, Kate with a curse that breaks, and her forehead comes to rest against his neck.

He's shaking.

He shouldn't have-

No. _She_ shouldn't have-

"Let's make this quick," she mutters.

"What?" he gasps. "Cabs are taboo, but the _sidewalk_ is-"

"No!" She laughs, jerking back from him, slapping his shoulder. "No, Castle. I mean - what I was going to show you. Let's do this quickly and then go home."

"Whose home?"

She falters as she walks away from him, turns back with a surprised and faintly - is that embarrassed? - look on her face. "I - I was thinking yours."

He grins, knows it's feral and predatory and _wanting_, but he can't help it. She doesn't want to be owned; he doesn't want to own her. But.

She's his.

* * *

She feels him rock back on his heels when she leads him into the alley.

"Kate?"

She turns to him, finds him still and quiet, his face confused. She comes back to him, their hands still tangled, and she kisses his mouth, gentle, a way to comfort.

"What are we doing here?"

The alley where her mother was murdered.

"Finishing it," she says, her voice strong, proud of herself for it.

She turns slowly in the alley, so different and not different at all. There's the brick, there's the former bar, the dumpsters, the concrete. The fire escape has rusted through; the ladder hangs crookedly.

"What do you mean?" he says finally.

Kate looks back at him, still with her hand in his. "I took you to the hotel roof-"

He shivers and steps closer.

"-and where my mom used to work when she was alive. I showed you those places in an effort to be free of them. And it's worked."

"You want to be free of this place."

She nods. She feels his fingers flex and squeeze around her hand, and then he lets go. It's strange to be without the heat of him, the tether of his grip, and she wonders if she's lighter now, or just less stable, more likely to drift away.

Kate walks a little farther down the alley, comes to the spot where her mother's body was photographed by the evidence team. She can picture it all too well, the image burned into her brain, details from the autopsy scrolling behind her eyes.

But she wipes her hand down her face, the one Castle had been holding until he let go, and finds she can banish it.

She's stronger now than she was, stronger for these last three months. She's not as cumbersome as she was, but she also doesn't need his hand to hold her down.

"Castle."

And there he is, coming up at her side, and she likes the symbolism of that, of them standing together.

Her hand twitches against the back of his, brushing and bumping, and he gives a long breath out.

She hooks her pinky around his and turns towards him; he mirrors her immediately, expectant, looking like he wants to say something to help her, but not knowing what.

"I love you," she says instead, shrugging at him because she doesn't have words either, just-

He wraps his arms around her and buries her in his embrace.

* * *

"Your confidence is sexy," she says, her voice muffled against his bicep.

Rick laughs and flexes, curls his arm so he can run his fingers through her hair. They came back to her place, not his, and he knows he can't stay much longer, but the quiet is nice, and the conversation relaxed, and of course, the sex is. . .sexy, even when it's on her couch and a little silly.

"I'm not usually accused of lacking confidence," he says, following the trail of her hair down her back.

"Well, not in public. But sometimes I wonder."

"About my _confidence_?" he gasps, nudging his knee against her hip. She laughs, that light and dry chuckle that's filled with amusement. He used to think it was condescension, but he knows her better than that now.

"I just mean. Public persona versus private."

"Huh."

She lifts up on her elbows, digging into his chest; he winces and shifts them a little, easing back against the arm of the couch.

"You're not a playboy, Castle," she says, and _her_ confidence definitely is sexy. "You certainly like to come across as one, but you're not."

"Not anymore," he amends.

"Not ever. Even when - no. Not while I've known you, anyway."

His mouth drops open at that, but she seems so sure of it - why ruin her illusions? "I can be-"

Her fingers curl over his lips, silence him; she shakes her head, one quick negative, and then she's dropping her mouth down to his.

"What'd I say, Castle? Confidence."

"Okay then. I'm a stud. I'm your dream lover-"

She laughs at that, her forehead coming down to his chin as she gasps with it, her whole body vibrating.

"That wasn't supposed to be quite that funny."

"You're not supposed to be quite that arrogant," she smirks, her head lifting again to look at him.

"What can I say? You bring out the best in me." And even as he says it off the cuff, his mouth running away with him, damn. It's true.

"I certainly keep your ego in check."

"Not with all this sex we're having," he shoots back, laughing at her as she growls and presses her face into his neck, her arms tightening around him. "You said it yourself."

"I know, but I can't _help_ it," she mutters. "I think you must bring out the horny in me-"

He laughs, clutching her tighter, scraping his fingers through her hair, rearranging it, brushing at her back, her thighs, her ass, pressing a kiss to her temple, her forehead.

"You did offer sex anywhere but in a cab. Which is a really amazing gift, Kate, thank you. My birthday's not-"

"I take it back. No more IOU," she laughs, shaking her head against him.

It's funny, and he loves making her laugh, but she's still right. She does bring out the best in him. And keep his ego in check. And cater to his need for _this_ - not just the sex, but the touching, the playing, the being together and having these crazy conversations about nothing and everything.

And if she thinks he's not really a playboy, that he's changed, or even that he was never quite what his publicist made him out to be, it's only because she demands it. Her own integrity, her intelligence, her strength and resolve and compassion - she demands it in everyone around her, unspoken expectations that he's always wanted to live up to. The first person, other than his daughter, that expected better of him, more.

"Stop fiddling," she mumbles, laying her cheek against his chest. But he can't stop, he likes how soft her hair is, how it slides over his fingers, the back of his hand, and he feels like if he can keep touching her, if he has this moment and all the monents like it, he can do anything. Anything.

She runs her hand up his chest slowly, curls her fingers around his neck, lets out a little sigh. "If I fall asleep, you'll fall asleep," she murmurs.

"I won't fall asleep. I'll just watch you."

"And play with my hair," she mutters, but her eyes are closing.

He feels her body lengthening as it eases, runs his hand rhythmically through her hair. Despite his claim, he's not watching her; he's tracing aimless paths on her ceiling, enjoying the warmth of her practically on top of him, the way she breathes and her chest pushes against his - slightly out of sync.

And then she stirs, he glances down, and her eyes are flickering open. "If I went back. . ."

He curls his fingers at her neck, keeps his grip, his body loose. No pressure.

"Castle."

"If you went back," he repeats, waiting for her.

But she doesn't complete the sentence, and he realizes she wants _him_ to finish it; she wants to know what he thinks.

"If you went back," he says, and weighs his words, tries to find the exact right thing she needs to hear from him. "If you went back, it wouldn't be the same, you wouldn't be the same - but I think it would be. . ."

"More," she says on a breath, light and barely there, a suggestion of substance, as if she's halfway to dreams.

He presses his thumb at the spot behind her ear, lets himself feel that, the words and the moment and the idea, just feel it, react honestly. It settles over him, but it's not heavy, not a burden, more like a shift back into gear, a click into place.

"Yeah," he agrees finally, relieved. "It would be more."

But when he glances down at her, she's asleep.


	90. 91: Saturday

**91**

* * *

He couldn't get away until noon, and by the time Castle makes it to Kate's door, he's itchy with sweat from the walk up. He's wearing dress pants and a once-crisp button-up, but his plan is perilously close to getting scrapped in favor of shorts and a tshirt.

Still, he knocks on the door and hears the flowers crinkle in his damp palm, waits on her to answer.

"You have a key-"

She stumbles to a halt at the sight of flowers, but his mouth is dropping at the sight of her lithe figure standing just inside her entry.

"Why are you naked?" he gasps.

She grabs him by the wrist, taking the bouquet, and rolls her eyes. "I'm not naked. Goofy man. What are the flowers for?"

"First of all, I'm falling down on the job if you feel the need to ask the occasion - every day is a good day for flowers. And second, Beckett, holy smokes-"

"-holy _smokes?_" she laughs.

"Holy smokes, you're in black lace underwear and a tiny scrap of a tank top. Spaghetti straps. I - I can't even - I just-"

"Flowers means you're apologizing, Castle. So what're these for?"

He's still struck half-dumb by her long and gorgeous legs and the hard edge of her shoulder blades under the strap of her camisole. "No apologizing. Just. Three months, Kate."

She grins widely at that and steps into him, brushing her breasts against his chest. "You're all dressed up, Castle. Going somewhere?"

"Thought so," he murmurs, gazing down at her, tripping right past her eyes to the lush curves of her body. Her hand not holding the flowers trails up his chest, tapping on the buttons of his dress shirt, skirting the hollow of his throat, curling at his chin.

"Thought so?" she breathes.

"Plans may have just changed. Didn't realize you'd be half-naked when you opened the door." He can't stop staring, can't help the way he leans into her, hands already at her waist and seeking that hot skin.

She shivers. "It's hot today. My air conditioning has been crap ever since they had to fix it."

"You're definitely hot," he says, hears the earnest and deep devotion in his voice, can't help it.

"What plans, Castle?" she says, her fingers curling at his ear and her hips bumping his. The hand with her flowers moves and he sees her place them on a shelf, but he's entirely not with it enough to figure out what's going on.

"Plans?"

"Why so dressed up?"

"Oh." Dressed up? Oh. "Three months, Kate."

"You taking me out, Castle?"

"Not anymore," he gets out, his throat tight with need, mesmerized by the dark and dangerous humor in her eyes.

"Oh, too bad," she sighs, starts drifting away from him. Castle grabs her by the wrist, yanks her back, then crowds his body against hers, pushing her back to her bedroom.

"It can be dinner plans," he promises. "I had a thing, was gonna celebrate, but the thing is nothing compared to this."

She smiles at that, draws her knee up the outside of his leg until he grabs her behind her thigh, helping.

"Can I kiss you?" he breathes out, staring at her mouth, the perfect curve of her lips as they thin with her smile.

"Why are you asking permission?" she says, curling her fingers in his hair and tugging him down.

When he presses his mouth to hers, open and heat-seeking, her tongue darts out and skims his lips, smoothing the way, letting her right inside. He groans and reaches down for her other leg, hooks both at his hips so he's carrying her, moving back towards her bedroom.

She breaks from his mouth with a gasp and squeezes her knees around him, rising up a little, kissing his temple, his eyelid, down his nose, sinking back against him and rolling her hips. He groans and knocks his knee against the arm of her couch, but no, no he is _not _taking her on the couch again, not today, not on their three month anniversary.

"Hurry," she moans, and the ragged sound of her voice makes his hips buck hard against the vee of her legs.

"God, shut up until I can manage to get us to your bed," he grunts at her. "Otherwise it's the floor, Beckett."

"What I want to do to you, the floor's no good," she growls, squeezing him again, her arms like bands around him, her body so humid and rich, constantly moving against him.

He manages to get his hand under the back of her shirt and spread across her ribs, scratch at her spine until she arches, pressing flush to him. He takes another couple of steps, thinks he's got it, and bangs them both into the doorframe.

They both groan and she bites his collarbone. "You're going to maim me before we even get a chance to-"

"If you didn't want to be mauled, don't answer your door in black lace underwear," he spits out, then hauls her off him and onto the bed.

She grins, feral and dark, then gets to her knees and reaches for him, hands undeterred and immediate and clever.

"Come here, Rick. I wanna celebrate our three months."

* * *

"Oh, my flowers," she says suddenly, lifting from bed by pushing off of his chest.

"Whoa, wait - where are you going?" he grumbles, tugging on his boxers to follow her. She scoops a tshirt from the floor and shrugs it on even as she heads back out into her living room.

"I don't want them to wilt," she says, but she turns to look at him over her shoulder and pauses, waiting for him by her couch with her arm stretched out to him, palm ready and waiting for his.

He takes her hand, amused to be holding her hand in her own apartment, and she laces their fingers together, loose and casual and intimate. It's nearly seven, and they really should get dressed again, head to dinner, but he can't pull himself away from her.

She leads him into her kitchen, stopping to pick up the flowers from where she'd placed them. Then he follows her to the kitchen, lets her hand go so she can find a vase for them.

Just an arrangement, nothing really that special, but lots of purple - dyed gerber daisies and something that might be a lily - with splashes of orange and red poppies. He thinks. Not sure. He didn't ask, he just walked into the store like a regular person and let his eyes roam, and then he picked the one that looked like it fit in her apartment. He didn't even check the price first, because if he had, he would have switched and bought something more expensive.

But he didn't. And she's arranging the huge bouquet into four different jars - not even vases, the woman doesn't even have a vase? - a pretty blue beer bottle, a clear mason ball jar, a coke bottle, and something that looks like she bought it straight from the fire, hand-blown and misshapen and sure, yeah, that could be a vase if he squints and doesn't look at it too hard.

"Stop breathing down my neck," she laughs, elbowing him away as she runs water in the various vases, but her head turns and presses a kiss to cheek before he can get too far.

Castle leans against the kitchen counter, watches her arms flex and extend as she fills them with water, positions them around her kitchen, the living room. She comes back to him and leans her whole body against his, flush and warm and strong, and then she lifts on her toes and kisses him.

Slow.

Thorough.

Wet.

He remembers to breathe, slides his tongue against hers, stroking, teasing, and finds his hands suddenly under her shirt and climbing her ribs, all soft and warm skin, brushing the underside of her breasts, cupping her shoulders with his forearms pressed against her back.

She moans and rolls against him, twice, her fingers dancing along the waistband of his boxers, to his sides, to the flare at his lower back. Kate skims her mouth to his chin, back against his jaw, her breath so ragged, so heated and stormy against him that his fingers are going numb, his knees running to water, his body capsizing into her.

"Three months," she whispers, scrapes her teeth at that spot just under his jaw where she likes to dwell. He shudders as her tongue comes out to play.

"Three - three months," he echoes. "And three weeks of vacation together in which we didn't kill each other."

"Miracle of miracles," she hums. "A break-in. A couple panic attacks."

"My daughter. My mother-" She laughs at that; he grins back, then softens his voice. "Our first big fight."

She sighs and her body eases against him, no longer held away with tension, her movements less aggressive and now more - adoring.

Her fingers skirt his ribs and she slides her palms up his chest to cup the sides of his neck, thumbs rubbing his jaw, like she's cradling him, like she's curled up into herself, into _them_, and holding him close. He wraps his arms around her tightly, squeezing her to him, feeling the way she melts and releases and just sinks down into him.

Her feet are scrunched up against his, cold, and he can just feel the way their toes thread together, just like she laces their fingers together too, and it's nice. It's weird, a little bit - she's the only woman who's ever worked her toes between his - but it's intimate, and he likes it, and it's that strange Beckett flavor.

She presses her mouth at his jaw and sighs. "Even when we fight, it's still-"

"Good," he fills in, his voice harsh with the sensation of her body against his and the way her hands hold him.

"It is," she sighs in agreement. "It's good. I've never had that before. Never been frustrated with someone like I am with you, and still wanting - still needing it. You. Us."

He shifts his embrace higher, curling in around her for a moment, hard and tight, and then he eases back.

"I've never-" He pauses and tries to fit the words into his mouth so he can push them out, get them right. He likes to think he leaves it all out there on the surface, that he's not some unfathomable mystery; he likes to think that he makes it obvious how he feels. About her, about anything.

But. Sometimes the things he feels he needs to say to her are stuck in his throat, that they're too much or wrong or too revealing. Because she matters so much.

He brushes his mouth against her cheek just to feel the way her body tightens for him; it gives him confidence.

"I've never had a friend," he murmurs finally. "Like this. Like you. A partner."

Those hands on his face grow strong; her head comes up so that he sees her. She's swimming in emotion, all of it reflected in her eyes, filled up. His breath catches.

"Rick. I love this. I love us."

He lets out a breath of a laugh, relief and ease and the way she's looking at him, and then he leans in to capture her mouth. But she stays him with two fingers, her nose nudging his, and her breath sliding against his cheek.

"I love you," she adds, curling the fingers of one hand in his ear. "I love you, and I am so - so - I don't even know. Nothing sounds like enough for what it means. Just-"

"Happy three months," he supplies with a little shrug. "Three months, Kate. Just the beginning."

Her arms tighten around his neck and she lifts into him, nodding at his cheek. "Yes. That." A quick breath in and then her hands are strong on him, tugging him back so their eyes meet. She's grinning. "So take me out to dinner, Castle."

* * *

Kate watches him as he has to iron his pants and shirt, wrinkled from being crumpled in the floor. He has shorts and tshirts at her place, but nothing nice, and he probably should.

"You should bring some stuff over," she says, frowning as she watches him spray starch to the line of buttons and press the iron against the material. "Just to save time at least."

"I like to iron."

"Oh good. I'll have a pile for you," she smirks, sitting cross-legged in her messy bed with - still - only a shirt on. She does enjoy teasing him.

"I'll do them, too. Especially after we fight. It'll be soothing."

"You say that like it's a foregone conclusion we're gonna fight," she laughs.

"Oh, it is," he says darkly, but he raises his head to give her that smirky, cocky grin. "So get me a good stack going. I'll need it."

"So pessimistic, Castle. Gonna have to break you of that bad habit."

He barks out a laugh and his arrogant cockiness disappears, subsumed back into the real Castle, the eager one, the joyful one. His finger flicks in her direction, some kind of acknowledgement or approval, and he looks her up and down. "You wearing that?"

"Why? You got a problem with what I'm wearing?" she retorts, smirking.

"Not at all. I do think that where we're going - yeah, they might. No shoes, no service, Beckett."

"Mmm, shoes," she murmurs, stretching and surreptitiously watching him under her lashes. He follows the rise of her chest and the length of her arms, then drops his eyes back to his ironing. She smiles to herself and finally gets up. "We have a reservation?"

"At eight."

"Ah, that's soon," she says carefully. She really hates cutting it close, hates even more to be late, and he knows that.

"They'll hold it."

"Okay," she says finally, glancing at him as she heads for her closet. Of course they will; it's Rick Castle, right? So. She can take as long as she likes. His fault, tossing aside the plan and dragging her to bed.

Well. She liked that too. More. Yeah. More.

"Castle," she calls out on a whim. "What's your favorite color?"

"Orange," he says back, unhesitatingly.

She huffs as she looks at her closet, frowns. "On me."

He laughs at that. "Does nude count as a color?"

She does laugh at that, glancing over her shoulder at him, an eyebrow raised, and he grins, entirely unrepentant.

"Okay then. Blue. Red. Green, oh that green - no wait, that _black_ with the v-neck, or you know that flowy thing all bronzed and - arg, I don't know."

She smiles to herself and glances over her shoulder at his dress shirt. Beautiful plum, deep, and she remembers seeing a purple and silver tie. "My favorite color on you is-"

"Blue," he says without a beat. "Or purple. Hard to tell sometimes, but your eyes narrow and-"

"Yes," she murmurs and turns her head back to her closet, can feel herself blushing. Damn. "Blue. The purple - that one there, especially, also very good."

She can practically feel him smirking from all the way in her closet and she ignores it to run her fingers through her dresses.

Not that she's looking to match him, exactly, but she really does love purple.

* * *

He couldn't resist: he ordered a limo. Figured for their three months anniversary, he might get away with it.

Besides, he got her cheap flowers, didn't he?

He still holds his breath when they step outside her building and the long, sleek black car is there waiting for them, but Kate gives him a laughing look over her shoulder, her mouth pursed in that not-quite-disapproving smile that he really, really loves.

"Couldn't help yourself, huh?"

He grins back at her, steps a little closer so he can rest a hand at the small of her back. The dress she's wearing is gorgeous, a deep purple silk that clings to her figure, falls in a straight line to her feet. She asked if he didn't think it was too much, too dressed-up, but he fell in love after just one look at that low, v-shaped neckline.

Beautiful. She's beautiful.

"You look like a movie star," he answers her smirk with a shrug, knowing his eyes say it all, how proud he is, how grateful he has her at all. "Had to make sure the car was appropriate."

She's reached the door but turns to him, her smile softening, her eyes so bright, so clear as she steps close.

She dances her lips along the edge of his mouth, curls her fingers around his ear and whispers, "All for you, Castle."

He kisses her back lightly - it's only way he's not going to make them_ more_ late - then he moves to open the door for her. She rolls her eyes but gets in smoothly, holding her dress up, the pliant curve of her body distracting him for a second.

Jeez, they just spent the whole afternoon doing exactly _that_. He's gotta get a grip.

The restaurant they're going to isn't far, just a five-minute ride. He's surprised when Kate takes his hand again, laces their fingers together; the soft stroke of her thumb against his is haunting, intimate more than erotic. Does she do that because she knows he needs the contact? Or because she's come to need it as well?

Her eyes find his and she smiles, that slow, wide parting of her mouth where he gets to see teeth, tongue, all of her joy tumbling out.

Three months and she still leaves him speechless.

"You know," he blurts out without meaning to, "sometimes I think it's ridiculous how much I love you."

She laughs, just this one delighted breath. "It's okay, Castle," she shoots back, an evil glint to her eye. "Of all the ridiculous things that you do - this one I don't really mind."

The car brakes, saves him from having to come up with a decent comeback. "We're there," he says after a glance through the window, and when he gets out of the limo, turns to circle around the car, he's disappointed to see Kate is already at his side.

"I can handle my own door," she smirks, her head cocked at him.

"Not the only thing you can handle," he replies, wiggling an eyebrow.

She shakes her head at him, but links their arms together. "Restaurant, Castle. Behave."

He loves it when she gets bossy.

* * *

The place he picked is low-key, but elegant, a spacious room with just enough tables to grant the customers their privacy. The colors are mostly blue and white, probably an attempt at recreating a Mediterranean setting to compliment their cuisine; Castle thinks it works out pretty well.

He's never been here before, but Alexis and his mother have both heard "great things" about this restaurant. He waits until they're seated, menus in hand, to risk a look at Kate.

She's watching him with a hint of a smile, those dark, knowing eyes.

"Nice place, Castle."

Oh, good. She likes it.

He grins, relief and pleasure mixing in his veins, feels the nudge of her foot under the table. That's what she calls _behave_, huh? He nudges back, doesn't do anything else since the waiter is going to come back anytime to take their order.

"Do you know what you're having?" she asks, studying her choices carefully.

The way she does that - it reminds him of Detective Beckett, how intensely she would peruse her murder board, that same little crease between her brows.

"Um, no," he answers, looks down at his menu for the first time. Whoa. He has no idea what _dolmas, bakalao _or _psarosoupa_ are. "That's _cool_," he murmurs, excited that he might have to order blind.

"Dish descriptions are in English, Castle," Kate tells him, a note of amusement in her voice. Spoilsport.

He hesitates for a moment - both the turbot fillet and the seafood sound _amazing_ - but by the time the waiter comes back with their cocktails, he's managed to make up his mind.

Once their orders have been taken, he raises his glass, waits for Beckett to do the same. "To three months," he toasts with a smile, an arch of his eyebrow, "and not killing each other."

She laughs, a silent thing that makes her chest tremble, and clinks their glasses together. "To us," she agrees, her eyes intent on his as she drinks.

He can barely taste the alcohol underneath the exotic fruit, the drink almost too sweet, but he feels the slow swirl of it in his body, the delicate buzz that unfurls inside him. Of course, it could just be Kate's bare foot caressing his ankle, toes dipping under the hem of his pants.

Her skin is cool against his and he shivers, the cocktail sloshing in his glass.

"Careful," Kate warns, her voice teasing, dark and lovely. It wraps around him like a spell, roots him to the spot, ties knots in his throat.

How he loves her.

And that reminds him-

"I didn't get you anything," he says softly.

She quirks her lips at him. "I didn't get you anything either."

He lets out a breath of laughter - hadn't expected that - and then shakes his head. "But I want to-"

"No, Castle," she says, her voice warm and gentle. "I don't need anything."

"Let me finish," he says, nudging her ankle with the side of his foot. She presses her lips together, gives a little wave of her hand as if to say _Go ahead._

"I didn't get you anything, but I want to show you something."

She lets out a little puff of laughter and scrapes her hand through her hair, settling her elbow on the table as she looks at him. A little uncouth table manners, but a lot sexy, and he momentarily loses his train of thought as she bites her bottom lip, her hair falling around her arm, her eyes on him.

"Think you already showed me something," she says, her lips pursed around the words before stretching into a grin she can't hold back.

"Uh-huh, I love your dirty mind," he sighs back happily, reaching a hand out to stroke his knuckles along the inside of her arm. She drops her hand from her hair and wraps her fingers around his bicep, the two of them pitched forward into the table, as close as they can get.

"Castle," she admonishes, her thumb brushing over and around his arm. "What did you want to show me?"

He blinks and remembers, letting out a little laugh as he comes back to himself. He lets go of her and pulls away to reach into his pants pocket for his phone.

Kate sits back as well, but he can see the faint pink of her skin in the deep v of her neckline. She leans her head towards her raised hand, curls her hair back behind her ear as she watches him.

He unlocks his phone and calls up the email app. Castle finds what he's looking for, taps the screen to make the image full screen, and then hands it over to her.

"What is this?" she asks, taking the phone in both hands, cradling it in her fingers.

"Dedication page of Frozen Heat."

Her eyes dart up to his, and then back to the image of the galley that Black Pawn sent him to okay.

_For Kate,  
__for this summer,  
__for always._


	91. 92: Sunday

**92**

* * *

_In this part of the story I am the one who_  
_dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,_  
_because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood._

_pablo neruda_

* * *

"I like it when you wear heels too," he murmurs into the top of her head. "But this is so nice."

She laughs at him, but her blood is humming with it, with the way his body encompasses hers. She tugs on him to keep them moving and he follows; she glances down at the simple flats she slipped on today, the first things right by her door when he came to pick her up.

Kate walks with Castle at her side, the heat of the day made cooler in the shade, tendrils of sweat at her lower back, right where he rests his too-warm hand. But she likes it, steps closer as they come out of the trees and into the clearing. She shakes her head at where they've arrived, and he grins.

"This is practically our spot now," he murmurs on a laugh, tugging her towards Belvedere Castle.

"Well, you did save Nikki's life here. And you kissed me here. And oh, Shakespeare in the Park with Alexis and your mother," she says softly back, her eyes lifting to meet his. He's got this adorably sweet look on his face, all wonder and nostalgia.

"See? Our spot." He leans in and snags her lips with a rough kiss, sloppy as he still pulls her towards the parapet. She laughs at him and lets him guide her, finding her way to his side.

They both look out over the pond, the lawn, the beautiful overhanging vines that clog the tree limbs. A few joggers even in the heat, some tourists for sure - and more than she likes - kids, couples, friends. Busy, of course; Central Park in the summer is always a flux of people. They've managed to get a spot at the very edge, despite the shifting crowd, and the view makes her whole body come alive.

Or maybe it's the man.

She twines her arm through his and then laces their fingers together, smiling at the puff of his chest, how he's proud to have her. Mm, Richard Castle.

"Love you," she says softly, too quiet really, but he hears her. He always manages to pick out the sound of her voice.

He lifts their joined hands to his mouth for a kiss; she can feel his smile against her skin and she turns her head, lips pressed together into a smile, her eyes roving over the expanse of grass and tree before them.

A flash of sunlight has her sliding her sunglasses down over her eyes and he pouts at her. "I want to see your beautiful face."

"I want to _see_," she laughs.

"It is bright out here," he admits, glancing around the parapet to the brilliant noon light directly over head. "The pond is like a mirror, bouncing it around."

She nods, but he's already shifting his body around in front of her, his back to the parapet, and saying, "Here, I'll block the light for you-" and she knows he's going to kiss her, going to spin her around and lean in with his mouth over hers, grinning-

She doesn't see it, doesn't understand until she sees his face wash out, bloodless and dire, his mouth open on words that don't come.

"Castle?"

And then the jerk of his body, like they are two separate, divergent things - like the first has nothing to do with the second.

He lurches into her, heat spreading across her chest at their contact, and even as she tries to catch him, people are screaming, screaming, people are screaming, and he's too heavy, he's sliding down to the stones beneath their feet, bowed over her, and she's dropping to her knees under his weight, bones cracking with the force of it.

"Castle. Castle, God, Castle, no."

She clutches him and feels the breeze of a bullet just past her head. Second, second bullet.

"Get down," he groans.

"Castle. Oh God-" She fumbles him as she reaches for her phone, feels the third bullet zip along her arm even as they are falling.

She drops them both to the hard surface of the castle, sees his eyes still open and staring at her, his mouth working, and she huddles over him behind the parapet as another shot cracks the stones. Her fingers don't seem to want to work on her phone.

"Castle," she keens, cradling his face with her hand and afraid, afraid to look, afraid.

"Esposito," she cracks, hearing Javi's voice. "Oh God, someone's shot Castle. Castle is - we're at Belvedere Castle, Central Park, someone's shooting - please get a bus, oh God-"

"Beckett, Beckett, stay down, don't move; we're coming. Bus is on its way." The crackle of the phone as he's on the move, but Kate can't tear her eyes away from Castle's, from the way the color leaches out of everything, the blue drained right out. "Officer down, God damn it, officer down - Beckett, stay on the line with me."

Castle's arm lifts and his palm fumbles to her neck, blood-drenched, and then up to knock her sunglasses off. Kate yanks them away, lets him see her eyes, and the relief pours back into him, his hand drops heavily to her collarbone.

She chokes on her breath and slides her eyes down his torso, drops her phone beside his head, then skims her palms over him-

hits blood, the give of flesh, the twisted grunt of his pain.

She is so damn grateful she was wearing flats. A shot aimed at her just as Castle moved in front of her, the head shot that would have ended her life right there - it got him in the chest, high up, right side. Had she been wearing heels-

Kate presses both hands over the exit wound just under his clavicle, right side of his body, away from his heart, away from his heart, thank God, away from-

His chest heaves on a breath, head slumping to one side, and she presses harder. "Castle, Castle, don't close your eyes. Don't close your eyes. I need you with me, Castle."

She can hear Esposito yelling at her from her phone, but she only has room for this, for pressing her hands against his bleeding shoulder, not sure why Castle's face looks so bloodless, so blue-

His hand is still at her neck and she feels the slick fingers slide off as he loses energy or consciousness.

"_Castle_."

A flutter of his lashes and his eyes burn brilliantly open again.

"Castle, you are fine. You are going to be fine."

He sucks in another thick-sounding breath, wet, and she realizes, oh damn, oh _fuck_-

The entry wound. Must be. Low. Must be - the angle - they are up on the parapet and the angle must mean an upward trajectory - through his lung, through his lung upwards and out his shoulder-

"God, no. No." She takes a precious second to snatch her phone up and press it against her ear with her shoulder. "Espo, God, his lung is collapsing - I need a damn bus-"

"It's on its way, I swear. Park officers responding, the mobile unit-"

She drops her phone when Castle's eyes slip shut again. "No. No, Castle. Open your eyes, please, please open your eyes for me."

It takes a moment, she presses his chest harder and he grunts and awakes, staring at her. A kind of smile crosses his face, drops off, even as she digs a hand under him to search for the entry wound.

"Sorry, sorry, but you have to - you have to stay with me." She can feel tears dripping off the end of her nose entirely without her permission. "Don't go, don't - just stay awake, stay with me-"

"Love you," he says, barely words, his breath leaving him on a wheeze. "Love you, love-"

"No, don't," she says, hunching low over him to press a kiss to his forehead, his cheeks, avoiding his mouth so he can breathe as much as possible. "Don't say good-bye to me. Don't you dare say good-bye to me, Rick Castle."

"Never meant," he heaves in a breath, his chest jerking under her hands as he struggles for air. "Never meant to keep that promise."

"Oh _God_." The promise she made him keep to never save her life at his expense.

"Love you-"

"No, you don't get to do this, you don't - no, Castle-"

She feels the sucking of his chest wound at his back, through her fingers, and knows there is nothing, she can do _nothing_-

"Love, 'Lex - tell 'Lexis-"

"Rick," she sobs, her mouth hovering just over his so that she feels the moment he stops breathing.

Something breaks.

Her panic recedes like a wave being sucked back to the ocean, a video in reverse; she is un-drowning, she is calm. She presses her mouth to his and begins CPR.

She will not lose him.

She refuses to lose him.


	92. 92: Sunday continued

**92 (continued)**

* * *

She stands in the corridor.

The blur of noise, the smudges of color, and she's staring. Her hands hang at her sides, half-curled, empty.

Staring long after he's disappeared.

She's not allowed behind those blue doors. The nurse repeated it, over and over, as if Kate wasn't listening. But she was. She's not allowed.

But Castle - Castle's back there.

Castle's back there, behind the doors, maybe dying, and God, what is Kate supposed to do-

"Beckett, come on."

He cannot die. _Hear me, Castle? You don't get to die on me._

If he dies-

"Beckett."

A firm, uncompromising voice, a hand at her elbow.

Esposito.

She turns.

"We need to get your statement," he says, dark eyes meeting hers, holding her up. Thank God for Esposito; he knows. He knows exactly what she needs.

"Yes," she says, finally finds her voice. Yes, yes, statement, anything. Anything.

"Do you want to get cleaned up first?" he asks, doesn't beat around the bush, doesn't use covert words. Just plain truths.

Just what she can handle.

Kate looks down at her hands, sees the red, Castle's blood. Encasing her forearms like morbid, satin gloves up to her elbows. Cinderella invited to a deadly ball. It's soaked into her clothes too, crusted at her knees, but nowhere is the red as bright as it is on her bare skin.

Castle's blood.

"No," she finally says, voice flat. "Statement first."

She follows Esposito out of the corridor, eyes down, and all she can think about is this-

She's not going to wash it off.

The blood on her hands - this is how much Castle loves her. It's what he gets for loving her.

Kate grits her teeth, focuses on her breathing, in and out, on the familiar outline of Esposito's shoulders, her fingers curling into protective fists.

She's not washing it off.

Not if it's the last thing of Castle's she's ever going to have.

* * *

"Beckett, you need to clean yourself up," Ryan tells her, too gentle, too much comprehension in his blue eyes.

She averts hers, shakes her head. But Esposito says, "He's right, Beckett. You stay like this, you gonna scare Little Castle."

Alexis.

Oh God, Alexis - Martha-

"They're on their way," Ryan says in that soothing voice, like that should make her feel better.

Of course it doesn't. What on earth is she going to tell-

Esposito pushes a bag into her arms. What- "Some clothes you left in your locker at the precinct," he answers, probably reading the confusion on her face. "Workout sweats, but they'll do for now. Bathroom is the first on your right, down that hall. Go change."

She swallows, nods stiffly.

Change clothes. Okay.

She goes.

* * *

The bathroom doesn't have a mirror, and at first Kate thinks that's a good thing.

She doesn't need to see her own tired, tear-streaked face, her blood-drenched clothes.

She starts by washing her hands, slow, careful. She puts on just enough soap and then rubs, tries to get it from under her nails, chip the dried blood off the lines of her hands.

_Alexis, Alexis, _she repeats like a mantra as the water swirls red at the bottom of the sink.

Alexis cannot see her like this.

When she's rinsed off most of it, she bends over the sink, rests on one elbow as she slides her opposite forearm under the faucet, trying to get as much water on it as she can. That's when she sees it.

Fingerprints.

Neatly formed into the smear of blood on the underside of her wrist.

He must have - he must have been trying to hold on to her. His hand - but she can't remember, it's all a blur, the panic and the begging, Esposito's voice on the phone, and she wishes she could remember, she wishes she could-

A sob breaks free despite her clenched teeth and suddenly there's nothing she can do. She bows over the sink, the tears strangling in her throat, leaking out of her eyes, mixing with Rick's blood against the white ceramic.

And that's when she wishes there was a stupid mirror, because if she could see herself crying, if she could her face twisted with it, how afraid she is, how _in love with him_, maybe she could stop.

Maybe she could get it under control.

But there is no mirror, no one watching, and she can't.

She can't.

* * *

The door of the bathroom creaks open and Kate jerks upright, a panicked _no _on her lips, the back of her hand pressed to her open, still-sobbing mouth.

"Kate, it's me. I'm coming in."

Oh.

Lanie.

She swallows heavily, wipes the moisture off her cheek, meets her friend's eyes as she comes in.

"Oh, honey," Lanie sighs, so much sorrow in that soft sound. She opens her arms.

"Don't," Kate warns, lifting a pleading hand. "Or I'm gonna cry again."

Her friend pauses and purses her mouth, cocks her head at Beckett. "You know, Kate Beckett, some people would say crying is a normal reaction after some goddamn traumatic event has happened."

Kate lets out a trembling laugh, a garbled sound with tears in it, and she presses her palm to her mouth, feels the thin, fragile edge that she's walking. "Don't make me laugh either," she asks from under her fingers.

Lanie looks at her for a long moment, gives a little nod. "All right. What do you need?"

Kate stares, startled by the question, by the obvious answer that pounds in her heart. Castle. Oh god, she needs Castle-

Enough, Kate.

"I um, need to wash off the - b-blood," she gets out, pushes the word past her lips. "And change. Clean clothes. Espo-"

"Oh, you are not wearing those old rags that man brought you. I stopped at your place and grabbed all the stuff you might need," Lanie says with a small smile, lifting a bag from her side.

Kate wants to smile back, but her face feels stiff, frozen. _Stopped by your place_ - but her favorite pair of jeans are at Castle's.

_Stop._

"Thank you," she says.

The ME comes forward, depositing the bag on the floor, and she grabs Kate's hands, squeezes them. Her palms are warm and firm; Kate's skin feels clammy against them.

"He's going to make it," Lanie says, her voice so fierce and loving that Beckett's chest twists with it.

"You don't know that," she protests, shaking her head against the affirmation or the tears that gather, she can't be sure. "You don't-"

"Girl, listen to me. I know you. And I know him. And there's no way in hell that man lets something as small as a bullet nicking his lung take him away from you. You hear me? Not Rick Castle. Not if he has anything to say in it."

Kate presses her lips together, drags a breath in, lets it expand in her lungs before she pushes it out. Does it again. The tears stay put. She attempts a tiny smile.

"Now," Lanie says, her face softened, her eyes gentle. "Let's get you cleaned up."

* * *

Alexis's hand is in hers. She doesn't know how long it's been, how long they've been waiting in the too-clean room, shifting in the unforgiving plastic seats, waiting for doctors who come and go with unhelpful statements like "He's still stable," or "Surgery's going well."

When did Alexis get here?

Kate sits up, stretching her much-abused back, meets Martha's eyes.

They exchange a strained, joyless smile filled with too much understanding. Neither of them speaks; there is nothing to say.

Alexis is dozing, her head thrown back against the wall, mouth half-open. But her hand is warm and loose in Kate's, their fingers intertwined, and sure, it's sweaty and uncomfortable, but Beckett is not about to let go.

Her world has shrunk down to a handful of sounds and colors: the tick of the clock, the stretchers being wheeled in the opposite corridor, the green of Martha's summer scarf as the woman smoothes it on her knee, over and over, the feverish blue of Castle's eyes as he said, _Tell Alexis._

So Kate holds on to that hand, his daughter's hand, because this is the way she keeps her promise. This is the way she tells Alexis that she's loved, that she will be loved. No matter what.

And maybe, maybe if Kate keeps _her _promise - maybe it's not too late to make him keep his still.

_Save your life for me, Castle._

* * *

Her head jerks up when the door to the waiting room opens - new doctor.

New doctor.

Oh God.

Alexis's hand in hers cramps painfully, but they all stand. Everyone - so many people in here, for him, for Castle. All these people turning their faces to the guy in surgical scrubs, clean and neat-looking except for one small stain at the hem of his shirt. Blood.

Oh God.

Kate can't do this - she can't-

The surgeon stops in the middle of the room, meets Kate's eyes, a hand out to her elbow.

"He's alive."

He's alive.

Kate rocks on her feet under the force of it, feels like she's getting her first clean breath in hours.

He's alive.

The amount of relief triggered by those words is ridiculous.

Of course there are a number of facts that come in to moderate the optimism of that first statement - not out of the woods, he's lost a lot of blood, they're not allowed see him yet - but Kate is only half listening, the pound of her blood too loud in her ears.

Richard Castle's heart is still beating.

The doctor patiently answers Alexis and Martha's questions. Lanie's arm is around Kate's waist, but the ME is listening intently, her brow knitted, and Beckett knows she can count on her friend to make sense of it all later.

She feels blank, empty, scraped raw by the sweeping gratitude - nothing left of her.

Only those words.

He's alive.


	93. 93: Monday

**93**

* * *

Kate jerks awake in the waiting room and runs her hand down her face, breathing hard, unable to get the terror out of her head.

Alexis is curled up along the two chairs next to Kate's, her cheek smashed against the arm, one foot dangling to the floor.

He's not dead. He's not dead.

There is - at least - that.

"Beckett," a whisper comes.

She lifts her head from her hands and Ryan hovers just inside the doorway to the ICU waiting room. "Kevin."

"Gates - if you want - she wants to - if you can-"

If Gates is up - still up - then she has brought the whole 12th precinct to bear on the shooting. Castle's - Castle- "Is she here?"

"No."

"Then no."

Ryan shifts in the doorway. "She'll come down later. In the morning. Decent hour."

Kate pauses, can feel the moment trembling before her - a choice - and she nods. Once Ryan has left, she drops her arm over Alexis's back, strokes her fingers through his daughter's hair.

* * *

She can't sleep. Can't sit here either.

Esposito texted her an update, like she's the lead detective on this case, but it doesn't help with the ragged hole of her grief. She can't focus on the details - the tree perch where the sniper was, the lack of shell casings - she can't gather the threads together to form any real meaning. None of it means - there is no meaning. There is only the surprised, wordless way Rick's mouth opened and the shock of his body hitting hers, dragging them both down.

Kate swallows it back and eases her hand out from Alexis's, stands up. She's headed for the door, and then the long stretch of the hallway. If she takes the full length of the ICU's perimeter in a square, then it doesn't look like she's pacing - it is only going in straight circles.

She passes the uniform stationed just outside the ICU double doors; he gives her a head nod. Respect shines in his eyes, and somehow, some way, her chest eases just a little at that - he's here, he's armed. He's armed. It's okay.

She repeats that to herself as she stalks the corridors, caught up in the quiet, the sound of her own breathing, the way her shoes stick to the linoleum. She doesn't want to know why. She won't look. She can't look. It's probably his blood.

She roams the hall to get rid of the jittery energy that still pounds in her heart, checks the clock as she goes. Four in the morning and she's - she might break apart if she can't get it together.

The ICU night nurse gives her another thin smile as she passes - is this the fifth time she's been the length of the place? Kate can't find the muscles which will smile back; she keeps going, her feet circling where Castle rests when all she wants is to be there, inside, with him.

She makes the next turn along the back hallway, can see through the windows here into the long row of ICU beds, all of them curtained off. She can't even tell which-

She comes to a halt.

The door is open.

It's not like it's locked to keep them out, but there are rules, visiting hours; it's strict and she's been promised a fleeting handful of minutes, but later. And just the fact that the door is open. . .it's like an invitation. It's four in the morning and why can't she be in there? Why can't she walk right through?

So she does.

* * *

She slips around the curtain, barely disturbing it, her eyes on Castle.

The ventilator breathes for him; the anesthesia is still in his system. There are no chairs, no comfortable spaces, but she's on his left side, away from the bandage encasing his right shoulder, and so she stands at the edge of his bed and takes his hand.

It's not quiet in here with the machine; it's not good. His face is swollen but his eye sockets hollow; bruises mottle the skin around the bandage, pepper his neck. His right arm looks papery and brittle, while the palm in hers is dry, fingers bloated. It's not right - this isn't him.

She stands there and takes it, won't let go, won't stop keeping watch over him, and she finds herself breathing in time to the machine. She can't break its rhythm to get the air she needs, can only hang on to his hand and struggle through it.

His fingers twitch.

"Castle," she murmurs, crowding close, her hair falling down and brushing his chest. She scrapes it back, tries to lace their fingers together but she can't. She can't. His hand is too swollen, and her chest cracks with it-

His eyes open.

"Castle." She sucks in a breath as his lids droop then slide open again. But he's not with her, that's not him looking back at her. "Rick?"

Staring eyes, the dulled weight of pain. Kate releases his hand and strokes her fingers up his arm, curls them in around his neck, slides her thumb slowly at his jaw. The ventilator, the tube in the way - and his eyes not seeing her.

"You're okay," she murmurs. "It's okay. I promise, it'll be okay."

His lids sink down, and he's gone.

But he was never really there.

* * *

She sneaks out again at six; he opened his eyes three more times, like he was coming up out of water, but he didn't know her, didn't see. At one point he jerked his hand to his face, maybe to get at the tube, but she held him down and he quickly slipped unconscious.

When she gets back to the waiting room, arms are thrown around her and Kate startles, heart pounding hard, but it's Alexis.

"Kate, my Dad-" and then her voice breaks and her face is buried against Kate's neck, her tears so fresh and thick that they are both drowning.

She should've been here, not - not with the unconscious man who didn't even know she was there. She should've been here when Alexis woke.

Kate wraps both arms around his daughter and holds on, both of them in the middle of the ICU waiting room, and that's when Martha comes in, that's what she sees, and the woman's face collapses.

"Oh God-"

"He's still alive," Kate rushes to explain, reaching out and grasping Martha by the wrist. His mother comes into the tight embrace, the three of them holding on to each other, holding up, clinging to that one truth-

He's still alive.

* * *

ICU regulations. Fifteen minutes broken down for the three of them means they each have five miserly minutes.

Alexis first. Martha next. Kate is last.

She brushes at the tears still clinging to her lashes, wipes them away, then steps inside. He's not awake, of course not; she hoped with the voices of his mother and daughter - but no. Surgery yesterday to repair the nick in his lung, the path of the bullet through his shoulder. He's not doing great, but he's still alive.

This time, authorized to be here, Kate skims her fingers over his washed out face, waxy with blood loss, then leans in to press her mouth to his forehead, then down to his eyelids, the skin warm and thin. No words come, nothing, not even a sound, and she realizes just how much he's known her, always known her, because this is exactly how he wrote _Heat Rises_ and still, still, she has nothing to say.

She had nothing at four am, and she has nothing now.

She can only stare at him, and touch his face so softly, while her body, her very being, is strung out at the fine edge of the cliff, quivering there, as she waits for his eyes to open and finally know her.

If he can just see her again. If he can just see-


	94. 94: Tuesday

**94**

* * *

Captain Gates is drawing her aside, her fingers like a vice around Kate's upper arm.

She knows what she has to do.

Alexis's hand squeezes once in Kate's but she lets go easily enough, turns to her grandmother as Gates leads them outside the waiting room.

She's not surprised to find Ryan and Esposito standing shoulder to shoulder just outside the doors. She barely registers them, hardly sees their expressions.

What she does notice is the gleam of her badge in Esposito's hand, her gun carefully held in Ryan's.

She turns her head to Captain Gates, but the woman beats her out.

"You officially were off probation three days ago," the woman says. "Esposito is back at the 12th. He was on desk duty until-"

_Until Castle was shot._

Ryan clears his throat. "Are you coming-"

"No." Kate swallows the thickness in her chest and clenches her fists to avoid reaching out for them - the badge, the gun - using them to hold her up.

"That's it?" Gates says, and her voice is like steel. "Just no?"

"No. But-"

Esposito and Ryan both tense, bodies coiled and waiting on her word.

"When he wakes up," Kate says quietly. "Not until he wakes up."

Captain Gates drops her hand from Kate's arm, gives her a slow look. "It won't be this case."

"Yes it will," Kate says back, meeting her eyes straight on. "It will be this case."

"We'll talk."

* * *

Her fingers slide through his hair. She has fifteen minutes and she wishes, so badly, he would wake up for her. He came to when Alexis was in the room - just for a moment - and then Alexis came crying into Kate's arms because it wasn't right - it wasn't him.

Kate knows the feeling.

She wishes he would wake up for her. Just once. She needs him, she needs again that moment she got yesterday. The blue of his eyes on hers. Just that. His eyes on hers. Not even the curl of his fingers, not even his smile, just his eyes on hers - even though the lack of awareness in them is chilling.

But she can't bring herself to talk to him like his mother and Alexis are doing, not while he sleeps. He's not in a coma; he's just drugged. She won't talk to him like it's worse than it is.

He's fine. He'll be fine.

He'll come off the ventilator later today and breathe on his own and he will be _fine._

If he was in his own bed at home, she wouldn't wake him up there either, would she? She wouldn't talk at him in the quiet, grey light of his bedroom and risk the grumpy, whiny baby he is when she wakes him earlier than he likes. _It's not natural, Beckett._ So she won't do it.

It's just a vacation. A little vacation. He gets to sleep in on his vacation.

As soon as he's off the vent, then she'll ask him to wake. She knows he has it in him. He's strong, healthy - he's _Castle _- and she is in love with him, and he can't do that to her, he just can't.

She strokes his hair, again and again, again and again, and then leans in to brush her lips over the deep lines around his mouth.

With her face pressed so close, she can't help but whisper, "I love you."

His eyes don't open by the miracle of her words; his chest continues to inhale and exhale in time to the ventilator.

His lashes are so beautiful against the pale line of his cheek, and he is breaking her heart.

So long as it's him, so long as he's the one doing the breaking, she can take it.

She'll take it.

* * *

Kate stares down at the coffee in her hands, lifts her head only when the doors open.

It's the mid-shift nurse, her hand at the stethoscope around her neck to keep it in place. "It's four, and you can-"

Kate jumps to her feet, coffee abandoned on the chair.

"-see him now."

Alexis is right at her side and Kate pauses, arrests her natural instinct to just _go to him_, steps back so that Alexis can take the first fifteen minutes.

"No," Alexis murmurs. "You go ahead. I - I hate seeing him like - he just-" Alexis shrugs, bites her lip. "I don't think I take it right now."

Kate rakes her eyes over the young woman, gauging her need, and then decides Alexis could use a break. "Why don't you call your grandmother and you guys can switch? You need to sleep."

_Your father would never forgive me if-_

"Maybe. Maybe I will," Alexis sighs out. "Call if-"

"Of course."

Alexis presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and then slumps into Kate. She embraces his daughter immediately, squeezing promise into those thin shoulders.

"Martha has sleeping pills," Kate says quietly. "Take one. You need to sleep."

"And you-?"

"I will." She won't. She's used to this. She knows how long her body is good for without adequate rest, and as a detective, she's perfected the art of snatching at sleep here and there. This is something she's _good_ at.

"Okay," Alexis sighs, her forehead against Kate's shoulder for a moment before moving away.

Kate follows the nurse back into the ICU ward.

* * *

She's there for not even thirty seconds when his hand spasms violently in hers. Kate gets up from the hard, metal chair and stands at his side, her other hand coming up to his forehead.

Only to be met with the storm-grey of his eyes, panicked and intent on hers.

"Castle," she gasps, tears streaking down her cheeks.

His hand crushes her fingers, his throat works, and his eyes rove her face.

"Hey, hey there," she murmurs, swiping at the tears with her knuckles. She strokes her fingers at his temple, along the ridge of his eyebrow, trying to soothe him.

His body jerks in the bed, his eyes blink rapidly and then his hand untangles from hers and reaches up, grabbing for the tube down his throat.

She snatches his hand back and presses the nurse call button. "Hey, no, no. Don't do that. You're okay. You're on the vent, Castle. You have to let it do all the work. Just relax."

But he can't seem to hear her, or the feeling of the tube down his throat has overridden his senses, because he's starting to make terrible noises in his chest, the desperation growing in his eyes.

She clutches his hand in hers and presses it against his side, leaning over him, feathering her fingers along his forehead, his cheek, his nose. "Castle, stop. Stop fighting the machine. You need to-"

"Looks like he's awake," comes the nurse's voice right over Kate's shoulder. She glances back and the woman is checking his chart. "Let me get the doctor on rounds - he can take him off the vent, see how Mr. Castle does breathing on his own."

"Hurry," Kate grunts. "He's not happy about it." Under her, Castle jerks again, the growl of pain or confusion issuing from his chest.

"If he keeps moving, I'll have to put him in soft restraints-"

"He won't move," Kate insists. "He won't. He's fine." She glances back down to Castle, frames his face with her palm, tries to will him to relax. "You won't, will you, Rick? You're fine. You're okay. It's okay."

His eyes zone in on hers; his gaze is unbreakable. He is pleading with her for something she can't understand, something she doesn't know how to give.

But wishes with all her heart she did.

"Anything, Castle. Anything. Just breathe."

* * *

She has to wait.

She has to wait for the doctor to remove the tube down his throat, carefully, then check his vitals, make sure that everything looks good, that he's taking breaths on his own.

She has to wait for the nurse to explain that Castle will stay in ICU for the night, then be moved to a room on the post-op floor in the morning, if his breathing remains stable. That they will get regular visiting hours then.

And then, finally, finally, Kate is left alone with him, and it doesn't matter that he can't speak, that his vocal cords will be paralyzed for the next couple hours because of the tube, none of that matters because his eyes are open and blue and aware, and he sees her.

He _sees _her.

In fact, he's staring.

"Hey," she breathes, a smile coming to life, blooming on her lips.

She steps closer to take his hand, the hand she had to let go of when the doctor was examining him, and he squeezes back, his fingers so strong, so unlike the lifeless, swollen digits from the day before.

Of course he's still pale and tired, his hair flopping across his forehead, but he is-

Alive. Awake.

Kate bites on her lip, feels the oppressive push of tears in her throat. Castle sees through her, he always does, and he struggles to sit up, get closer, wincing as he rests his weight on his elbow.

"Castle, I don't think you should-"

He grunts, gives her a fierce look, and she swallows her objections, leaning in to help instead. She puts an arm around his uninjured shoulder, her other hand gentle at his armpit; in this position his mouth is at her cheek, his warm breath against her skin, and it's just-

exactly what she needed.

She wraps both arms around his chest, just a moment, just a minute of holding him, breathing him in, the scent of the man she loves hidden underneath the hospital smell, intact at the crook of his neck.

It's not comfortable - she's still hunched over and her torso is twisted to fit against his - but she needs it too badly to care. Needs him.

_Rick_.

She presses her lips to his neck, fervent, feels the responding caress of his fingers in her hair, a little stiff but gentle, so tender. Oh God, and she came so close to losing him, could have lost him to a goddamn bullet fired by a goddamn sniper-

The anger helps, drains her of the fear, allows her to ignore her trembling mess of a heart.

She lets go, slowly, her hand on his shoulder as she arranges the pillow at his back, finds another one abandoned on the nearest chair. He rests into them with a sigh, his eyes fluttering shut, and her chest contracts-

Expands again when he looks at her, questions on his face.

She doesn't know where to start.

But he glances down at the bed before she gets a chance to gather her thoughts, his hand wrapping around the plastic handrail at his side, pulling it down after a few unsuccessful jerks. Then he invites her to sit down with his whole face, eyes, nose, mouth crinkled at her, his throat working even though nothing comes out, and although she's probably not supposed to, she's not about to say no to him.

So she perches on the bed next to his thigh, warmed by the contact, by the way his fingers close over hers.

He makes everything easier.

"Alexis and Martha are on their way," she tells him, figuring that's probably where he'd want her to start. "I just sent Alexis home; she needed the sleep. But they'll be here in about fifteen minutes."

She pauses, a little breathless, surprised at all the words that suddenly want out, all the things she wants to share with him now that he's awake.

"Alexis - she's strong. Helped me keep it together," she adds with a quick smile, her voice tight.

Pride and love paint his weary face, and she's struck by the light in his eyes, how very, very beautiful he is. Hers. Her Castle.

His index finger is tracing loops and swirls over her wrist, flirting with the edge of her bone; it sends tingling warmth along her nerves, gives her a point of focus.

"I was wearing flats," she hears herself say, like it's someone else's voice. "That's why-"

But she can't finish. She has to find his eyes, the familiar, brilliant blue, and force a long breath into her lungs. "God, Castle, the angle, if I'd been wearing heels...You'd be dead," she whispers, her whole body shuddering at the horror of that thought.

And then the words are tumbling out, the words she promised herself she wouldn't say, raw and eager in her throat. "I'm sorry," she says, holding his hand tight, seeking his forgiveness even though she knows- "I'm so sorry, Rick. I thought it was over, I thought I was - if I had known I was putting you-'

But he's shaking his head fiercely, a groan in his chest, and he's lifting a hand to her mouth to silence her; the soft press of his fingertips cuts off the flow of her apology. His hand moves to her neck, curling there, and he pulls her down to him until their lips are touching.

His mouth is dry, chapped from the lack of water, the artificial air from the vent. Kate brushes her tongue to it, kisses him slowly, lightly, purposefully, until his lips are as warm and soft as she remembers them.

He's alive; he's awake. Everything will be fine.

Everything will be fine.

"You scared me, Castle," she admits in a murmur, their foreheads touching, her hand cradling his jaw. He lets out a sigh, but she doesn't want his apology - no more than he wanted hers.

So she kisses him again, making sure not to leave him breathless, just light strokes of her mouth to reassure him, herself, dispel the paralyzing fear that she's been living with.

There are more things that need to be said. Maddox is still lurking out there, gunning for her; the boys want her on the case, and Gates wants her at the precinct.

But Kate is not going to spoil their moment, not going to tarnish the relief of their shared breath.


	95. 95: Wednesday

**95**

* * *

When he wakes suddenly, he feels like shit.

His eyes are heavy, eyelids dragging and scraping, but there's Kate. And if he feels like shit, she looks worse.

"Hey," she says softly.

He swallows around the catch in his throat, licks his lips before speaking. "Hey."

When he flexes his fingers and lifts two from the bed, she immediately laces theirs together, drawing closer, her other hand coming to his forehead. He likes that. Good touching. Soft, cool, tracing lines down his face.

He realizes he's closed his eyes again only when her fingers squeeze against his, a tense jolt of her worry circuiting through to him. He makes the effort to open his eyes and reassure her.

He can actually see her slow breath out. "When'd I get here?" he murmurs, casting a slow look around the room.

"They took you up this morning. You're on a recovery floor instead of ICU," she says quietly, still standing at his side like she can't bear to go that extra distance for the chair.

He tugs on her hand with what strength he has, and even though it's not this shoulder that got shot, his whole chest aches so badly that it steals his breath.

But she must understand, because she sits down at his hip.

"Have you slept?" he asks, cataloging the lines around her eyes, the deeper ones at her mouth.

She shakes her head silently, and she must not realize that her body is canting towards his, yearning.

"Scoot me over," he mumbles, shaking her hand loose to put a fist into the mattress. He tries to lift his hips and slide over but his whole body trembles on the finely balanced edge of pain.

"No. Castle, don't-"

"Kate. Either help me or watch me kill myself doing it alone."

He immediately regrets it, poor word choice, and his eyes fly up to hers. Shit, he needs to not be on pain medicine - it makes him so stupid, and he has no filter for his mouth - but if he didn't have the pain meds, he'd cry-

She's helping him.

And damn it hurts. But.

He pants and leans his head back, thoroughly exhausted, but he can lift his fingers and tap the empty space next to him. "Sleep. Sleep, Kate."

"Castle-"

"Right now. Sleep with me. I can't keep my eyes open, and you look worse than I feel."

"Well, thanks."

His eyes flutter open at that dry tone, and he stares at her, mouth dropping as he realizes. But she's already sliding carefully into bed with him, keeping well away from his body, for which he's both grateful and annoyed.

His whole chest hurts so badly, every shift in position is agony, and she must know that. No wonder she didn't want him around for her recovery last summer. This is brutal. And he doesn't want her hovering over him while he grits his teeth and tries not to cry.

Damn it. "Now I get it," he mutters, rolling his head on the pillow and slowly opening his eyes.

She's right there, so close, staring at him, studying him, like she can't possibly get enough. He'd like to lift his arm and stroke the hair back from her face, but he just can't.

"Now you get what?" she says, her voice so low and soothing, exactly perfect. Just what he needs.

"I get why you never called. This sucks. And it's worse knowing you're right here witnessing how very much this sucks."

He can hear her shaky indrawn breath and he tries to mentally review what he's said, but damn, it's gone. He doesn't know anymore. It's all garbled and slippery with pain meds.

"Now I get it too," she's saying, her fingers light and cool on his cheek so that he opens his eyes again and looks at her. "I get it. And I'm sorry."

"Why?" He's completely muddled. None of this makes sense and his body is now this light, airy thing drifting away from him. He can't pull it back, can't lift his arms to catch it.

"I'm sorry because there's no way in hell you're getting the three months you gave me."

"That doesn't make any sense, Beckett, but okay. Love you too."

He can hear her burst of laughter even as dark sleep drags him away.

* * *

He's goofy and sweet on drugs. And a little uncensored - which isn't quite as nice. But he's gotten honest with her, and it's endearing even as it can also cut, and she wonders how much of this was stuff he wanted to tell her months ago and didn't have the guts.

Or didn't think she did.

She hums and strokes the hair back from his forehead, holding the cup of water and the straw to his lips. "You broke your promise."

He gives this sloppy grin and his eyes meet hers. "And I didn't even do it on purpose."

She's relieved at his answer. Not because of the promise, just because he knows exactly what she's talking about. He remembers.

"But really, Beckett, I'm still alive. You're alive. So it's all good."

"I've noticed love is like that."

"What does that mean? Love is broken promises?"

Kate laughs a little, takes the cup away and slides it onto the tray before coming back to him. She leans on her elbow next to his head, strokes the hair at his temple. "No. I meant - doing what's best for the other person despite what they think is best. Or despite what I think is best."

"You like to be right," he hums, nudging into her hand with his head. Practically purring.

She smiles again and scratches her nails at his scalp, traces his eyebrow with her thumb. "I do. You got me there."

"I feel good," he sighs. "You make me feel good."

"You're not quite sober," she murmurs back, can't help the grin that lifts her face. She got about four hours of sleep early this morning - when he made her - and it's done wonders for her mood. "But I'm glad you feel good."

It won't last - the good drugs feeling. She knows that too. She wishes he wasn't getting the same experience she had last year, but hopefully his recovery time will be faster, smoother. She'll help. It sucks, just like he said, but she'll be here.

"Are you gonna kiss me or just hover there?" he mutters.

She smiles down into those blue, sleepy eyes and then leans in and brushes a soft, light kiss to his lips.

"Sleep, Rick."

* * *

Awareness comes back sharply - a flash of pain down his right side - the burn of wakefulness.

"You're awake," she's murmuring. "You're awake. What do you need?"

Rick opens his eyes, keeping very still, trying not to breathe too deeply because even that hurts, even the shallow, slow breaths are like knives-

"Castle. Focus on my voice. You're awake. Look at me."

He shifts his eyes to her and his body releases a little tension, easing to the mattress, and he realizes he must have tried to turn over in his sleep. He takes another slow breath and blinks at her, then feels the drug-haze thinning, the throb in his shoulder slowing to a dull roar.

"Yeah," he says finally. "Sore."

She nods. And well, she knows all about it, doesn't she?

"Damn," he mutters. She lifts a questioning eyebrow. "Guess I keep waking myself up."

"Yeah," she says softly. "You got about two hours though."

"Did I wake you?"

She shrugs. "Yeah."

"Good," he murmurs, taking a deeper breath, slowly, slowly-

"What?" she laughs, sounding startled.

He stares at her, the gorgeous light and the transformation across her face. Pleasure and surprise and teasing. Love.

"What?" he echoes back.

"I said you woke me up and you said _good_, Castle."

"Oh." He grins back, realizing how it sounded. "I meant. Good you were sleeping. At all. Not - not that I woke you up. Although, I'm glad for that too. I like waking up to your voice in my ear."

She shakes her head at him but she's smiling too, that tender smile that flips his insides out. Could be the drugs. But it's probably just her.

And she keeps touching him, too. He may be drugged up, but he can feel that. Her fingers smoothing the hospital gown over his shoulder, the brush of her thumb along his thigh, the constant threading through his hair, at his brow, his temple, his jaw. Like she thinks she can ease his pain with her touch.

Maybe she can.

"What are you still doing here?" he asks, mesmerized by the feel of her fingers now stroking his forearm and down to the inside of his wrist. Over and over.

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't get kicked out? It's late." That's his dinner tray - most of it still sitting there congealed even though she did manage to feed him nasty green jello and mashed potatoes before he just couldn't.

"Can't kick me out," she says, trailing the back of her nails flat along his arm and up to his elbow. "I'm here for good."

Yeah, that sounds lovely. All that gorgeous meaning. Does she know-?

Oh, look at that beautiful, broken smile. Yeah. She knows.

"I'm okay," he says, curling his fingers around her hand when she passes close again. He squeezes hard, hard enough to hurt himself, but he doesn't care. "I'm okay. And I love you. And we're going to be fine."

She nods, but her eyes are wet.


	96. 96: Thursday

**96**

* * *

He drifts awake reluctantly, dragged out of sleep by the slow ebb of pain, the dull throb of blood in his chest. Ugh. Drugs must be wearing off.

The room is light, too bright under his closed lids, so it must be morning or something. He's got absolutely no idea how long he was out for, but he doesn't feel any more rested. Can't really call it sleep.

"Richard?"

His mother.

He turns his head slowly, careful not to make any unnecessary movement, and opens his eyes.

Martha is sitting on a chair at his bedside, a magazine open on her knees, her blue eyes waiting on him. She looks perfect, just like she always does, her red hair in careful waves, her make-up impeccable, and he finds comfort in that.

He knows how much looking right matters to his mother, especially when it's the only thing in life she has any sort of control over, especially when her son got shot in the chest a few days ago. He understands, and he loves her all the more for it.

"Hi, Mother."

She quirks a smile at him, but not quick enough that he cannot see the beginning of tears in her eyes. "Hey, kiddo." She examines him critically, then says, "All this sleep, and you still look awful."

He smiles, manages to hold back a laugh. "What, I haven't returned to my ruggedly handsome self overnight? I'm disappointed, Mother. You did a rather terrible job hiring my fairy godmothers."

His mother snorts, and he can see in the lifting line of her shoulders how much this helps, how the back and forth reassures her that he really is going to be okay.

"Well I'm sorry, darling, all the good fairy godmothers were taken already. Besides, I figured, being my April Fools' baby - how much more magic were you going to need?"

He never realized before now how often he actually laughs. It's a painstaking process to push it back all the time, tame it to a soft, amused sound in his chest that hurts badly enough.

"You're right," he says, taking slow breaths through his nose. "Got all the magic I need."

And he means it. Yeah, he might not have superpowers, he might not be able to recover from a gunshot wound overnight - no matter how much he'd like that - but he's got kick-ass friends, an amazing daughter, a loving mother. He's got Kate.

He's pretty much set.

The cool touch of fingers at his temple makes him jerk, surprised, his eyes flying open again. Martha must have silently moved off her chair, because she's at his side now, and the look on her face-

Her mouth pressed together, lips thin, like she's holding back - everything.

He suddenly realizes that he hasn't gotten a moment alone with his mother, not since he woke up. There was always Alexis or Kate around, and he assumed Martha was doing fine, because she looked it, smiled and joked, was her usual playful self.

Clearly she's a better actress than he gives her credit for.

"Richard," she sighs, her voice so quiet and unlike herself.

"Mother, this might be the most you've touched me since that time in third grade when you had to patch up my bloodied knee," he breathes out, trying to alleviate the tension.

She gives him a light slap, narrows her eyes at him. "Don't you dare pretend I'm a bad mother, Richard Castle. I've hugged you every time you deserved it."

"Must not have deserved it very often," he mutters as if to himself, but flicking a look at her.

Oh. She's not laughing. "Will you stop it," she commands, but it lacks strength, lacks her characteristic self-confidence.

He bends his elbow to rest his hand over her arm, grits his teeth against the pain. "I was joking, Mother. You know I was."

He's not sure he's ever seen her so...brittle. It's unsettling, something deeply wrong about it.

"I know," she says finally, forcing a smile out.

"I'm going to be fine," he finds himself saying, although she never was the sort to seek empty reassurances. "Mother. You know I am."

"Yes, darling, yes. You'll be fine. This time, at least."

Ah. "This isn't like you, imagining the worst," he points out, surprised, saddened.

His mother finds his eyes, something so fierce on her face that he would step back if he could.

"My son just got shot in the chest, Richard. In broad daylight, in the middle of Central Park. I think I have a right to feel whatever I want to feel."

"You know I didn't do it on purpose, right?" he asks, desperate to soothe some of that anger she radiates.

"Oh, and that should comfort me? You would have done exactly the same thing if you'd been given the choice. No need to lie about it."

She arches her eyebrows and he finds himself silent, his back to the wall. "I would have," he finally admits, because no, he's not going to lie. He loves Kate Beckett.

He will never save his life at the expense of hers.

Martha presses a trembling hand to her mouth, looks at him pleadingly.

His mother, pleading?

"Richard, are you sure she's really worth it?"

"Of course she is," he answers, indignant, feeling a responsive anger rise. "Are you seriously asking me that question? You know her, Mother. You know I _love_ her."

"Yes, yes," she says, dropping her gaze to her feet, her hand wrapping around the bedrail. But her voice is strong. "I know. I just don't want to have to bury my son."

"I don't want to be buried either. But I'm not letting the woman I love die just to save my own ass. That is _not _how you raised me."

"I guess not," his mother answers, her face so neutral, eyes averted. "Maybe I didn't do such a great job."

There's nothing he can say to that, nothing he even _wants _to say, and so he lets silence take over, the weight of their conversation like a stone in his chest.

And then he knows exactly what needs to be said. What has to be said.

"Walking away didn't work," he starts, swallows against the frustration at having his own mother against him. "We tried that. Kate _quit_. It didn't make a damn bit of difference."

Martha has turned her eyes back to him now, her grip on his fingers tight.

It's so clear now. The path before them. And if his own mother is thinking like this, then he needs to talk to Alexis too.

"Mother, I can't promise that they won't come after us again. What if it's Alexis or you next time - just because they know that you guys matter to me, to Kate? The only promise I can make is that we'll get this guy. We'll stop him."

* * *

Kate kisses him softly, rubs at his lips with her thumb. "I'll be be back tonight. Alexis is coming in to entertain you."

He grins at that, even though he couldn't possibly stay awake long enough to miss her. But it's sweet; she's been this strange mixture of attentive and reserved that he can tell is mostly Beckett trying to process her grief, her fear, the terrible worst-case scenarios.

He's too tired to figure out how to calm her, ease her down from that heightened state of alert, and his body is wrung out like a washcloth right now. Otherwise he might pull her back for a better, deeper kiss.

"Castle?" she murmurs, and her fingers are in his hair again.

He opens his eyes on a breath, realizes he maybe fell asleep while he was thinking all that. "Yeah. Alexis is coming in. I heard."

She has a too-bruised smile on her lips when he manages to focus on her again. She needs to sleep; he hopes she gets some real sleep when she goes home this afternoon. It's all he'll be doing anyway.

"See ya," he mumbles to her back, dropping his eyelids for a moment.

A jostling at his side has body withdrawing and consciousness returning, sharp and clawed. The nurse is taking his vitals and not being so gentle about it, even while he sees his daughter hovering at his other side, her fingers in the crook of his elbow.

"Hey, pumpkin," he murmurs. There was something he wanted to talk to her about. Before he talked to Kate. What. . .was it?

"Hey Dad. She's almost finished."

"I'm okay. Just woke me. Think the drugs go in cycles or something."

"They do," the nurse confirms. "And we're about to start weaning you off of them."

He raises an eyebrow, gives the woman a lopsided smile. "Does that mean I get to go home soon? If I'm very, very good?"

"How soon is soon?" she volleys back, smiling, friendly. Honestly, the nicest nurse he's met so far, despite waking him. Alexis is squeezing his uninjured arm though and he glances over at her with consternation.

"You okay?"

She cuts her eyes to his, then to the nurse, then huffs at him. "I'm fine. And so are you, apparently." She flops back in the visitor's chair and he's completely bewildered by her attitude.

"O-kay." He turns his head back to. . .he can't remember her name, oh well. "Soon as in - the end of this week?"

"Actually," she says with a smile. "That's a real possibility. You'll have to get a home health nurse, you'll need physical therapy of course, but they like to get you up and moving as soon as you're in the clear."

"I can totally be in the clear. Watch me," he boasts, but honestly. Yeah. Nothing. He's exhausted from _sleeping_.

"I am watching you, Mr. Castle. That's my job." She winks at him and heads out, clipping the chart to the rack just inside his door.

Castle turns his head back to Alexis, wincing as the pain buffets him. Too many head turns, got it. How many was that? Three? Four? Keep it to a bare minimum then.

"You were so flirting with that nurse," Alexis says suddenly.

He opens his eyes - did he shut them? "What?"

"Why were you flirting with that nurse?"

"I. Was?"

"Da-ad. What about Kate?"

"What does Kate have to do with the nurse?"

Alexis crosses her arms and he's got this worrisome feeling in his chest. He was supposed to be saying something. Something about Kate. What was it? Something. . .

"Dad. You can't flirt with nurses and-"

"I can talk to people, lay off. I got shot."

She puffs out an annoyed breath and rolls her eyes at him, but she can't hide the wound. He realizes that was in poor taste, even though he tried to say it jokingly. Teasing. Oh, he did this before. With his mother. That's what he was supposed to remember.

"Hey. Alexis. Not to scare you, but - is there any kind of security on you and Gram? On Kate for that matter?"

She regards him gravely, her eyes no longer that insistent and defensive blue. Just sad. "Yes."

He lets out a long breath. "Good. Good. Okay. That's. All right. Is it someone from the NYPD? Because-"

"No," she says softly. "Did Kate not tell you?"

"What? No. What?"

"She hired people. An outside company - she talked to Gina and Paula about it, hired the guys who did the security for us back when you got those freaky fan letters."

He gapes at his daughter, feels the flush of pride and relief fall over him. "She did? She did. Good girl." He can't keep his brain focused long enough to do what needs to be done, but at least there's Kate. At least he's got Kate to pick up the slack.

Alexis stands up and approaches the bed, drops her hands to his forearm and bicep, rubbing her thumbs over his skin as she stares at his other shoulder. Where he was shot. "I think she did it to make us feel better. Feel safe again."

"No, she did it because she's smart. She knows this is serious. I want you to do what Kate says, pumpkin - whatever it is."

Alexis lifts her head and stares at him for a second. "She - okay. Okay, Dad."

He nods, but damn, the drugs in his IV. . .they are so good. He can feel it dragging at his body like being sucked back by a wave.

"Dad," Alexis whispers.

He forces his eyes open again; he's got to stay with it. This is important. This is his daughter; she needs him to make it okay again.

"Forget what I said about the nurse. I know you didn't mean anything by it."

"What nurse?" he murmurs, confused by the sudden little grin that flickers across her face at his words. She leans over and kisses his forehead.

"Sleep, Dad. I think you need to sleep."

* * *

"Do you think it was Maddox?"

He's trying to camouflage the pain that flares when he tries to scoot his ass over in silent invitation; his question is probably good to totally knock Kate off-balance.

And he knows they need to talk about this.

Kate isn't looking at him, anyway. She's standing near the window, her shoulder resting against it, and there is entirely too much space between them. It doesn't sit well with him_._

He's gotten used to having her close.

"Doesn't matter what I think," she says, frustration in her voice, but his words work even better than he expected: she pushes herself off the wall, takes a few steps towards him. "We don't have any leads, Castle. No shell casings, no prints, no fibers: _nothing._ Just the damn rifle, this time wiped clean."

She said _we._ Rick holds his breath, trying to gather the courage to push it, but she keeps going.

"So yeah, it looks like my shooting all over again. But that doesn't matter if we can't find the guy. And even if we did get to Maddox - he's not the one giving the orders, Castle. You know that as well as I do."

She looks a lot better tonight. The shadows underneath her eyes are barely noticeable, and her skin has lost the waxy look due to the lack of sleep. The downside of that is, of course, that she's restless and crackling with energy, with the need to go out there and investigate.

And he's completely fine with it. She should be on this case; no one else can do this better than her, get this guy once and for all.

He wants her to be fine with it too.

"The Dragon," he says, making a considerable effort to focus. He asked the nurse to slow down on the drugs when she came in again, because he wants to be conscious - but that also means he has to wrestle the pain back at all times, and it's exhausting.

"I wish we wouldn't call him that," Kate says darkly. "He's just a man, no matter how powerful and well-protected. It's like calling Voldemort _You-Know-Who_: it only feeds the terror. Does their work for them."

Castle huffs a laugh, can't help himself even though it hurts. Shit, it hurts. "I love how you just brought Harry Potter into this conversation. Soo sexy."

Kate snorts but looks back at him, seeing too much, and she finally comes to his side, rests a gentle hand to his chest. "How badly does it hurt?"

He really doesn't want to answer that question.

"Rick," she sighs, her voice tender, all that detective bad-assness gone in an instant. "You need to let them give you drugs."

"We're having a serious conversation here," he reminds her, his breathing eased by the warmth of her palm.

"Are we?" she asks, that dry tone that is completely Beckett. "It feels like we're talking in circles."

"Because you're avoiding the main issue," he says, lifts his eyes to hers.

She doesn't flinch. "And what is the main issue?"

"You going back to the precinct."

Her mouth opens and he can hear the long breath she sucks in, but she doesn't avert her eyes, doesn't back away. Good.

"I told Gates I wouldn't even consider it until you were awake," she says quietly, and he's glad for the admission. Esposito told him, when the guys dropped by to say hi, but Rick would much rather hear it from her.

"I'm awake now," he points out. He threads his fingers through her hair, twirling a curl around his index, trying to get a read on her silence.

"You are," she says finally, and her face is calm, confident. Oh. She's made her decision-

"I'm going back, Castle," she tells him, and there's regret and apology in her voice, but also a steely determination that he's absolutely thrilled with. "They came after you. After us. I can't-"

He tugs on her wrist to bring her down, bend her over him so he can get to her lips. Silence her. He keeps the kiss soft, light, just enough to make her understand.

"Good," he tells her when they part, mouths still hovering close. "You belong there, Kate. Nothing to apologize for."

She presses another kiss to his lips, so tight it bruises, then lets go with her fingertips at his hairline, stroking over and over. "I love you," she murmurs, fierce and beautiful, so raw.

This woman-

"Dad?"

Both their heads turn to Alexis, who has just peeked inside the room. "Oh, sorry," his daughter immediately retreats when she sees how close they are. "I'll come back-"

"No," Kate calls, her voice still rough. She clears her throat, runs a hand through her hair as she stands up. "No, Alexis, stay. You should hear this too."

"Hear what?" the girl asks, stepping inside hesitantly, a hand wrapped around the long braid that hangs over her shoulder.

Castle beams. "Kate's going to work on the case," he announces, can't keep it to himself. He can tell Beckett is giving him a look, but he knows exactly what his daughter's reaction will be.

Okay, maybe not exactly. Alexis drops her hand in surprise, but her mouth parts into a smile, eyes eagerly finding Kate's, and then she must find some sort of confirmation in them because she just flings herself across the room, and into Kate's arms. Wow.

That's new.

"I'm so glad," his daughter exclaims, her face against Beckett's neck. She lets go just as suddenly, cheeks flushing with embarrassment, but she doesn't drop her gaze. "Dad always says you're the best," she tells Kate. "And someone needs to stop these guys. They can't just - keep shooting people I love and getting away with it," she says, her voice wavering but not quite breaking.

And then - he's a little stunned at the sight - Kate is the one reaching out again, giving Alexis a tight hug before she speaks. "You're right," she says, and the emotion in her words only seems to make her stronger. "You're right, Alexis. Someone needs to stop them."

His mind unwillingly flashes back to that day he wasn't there, the day when Beckett hung from a roof and almost died, and he can almost picture Maddox beating her up, his hands around her neck before he left her to die. He can picture the scene so clearly because those bruises were with her for weeks. A constant reminder.

But they'll do it right this time. They'll be careful. Kate might not be strong enough on her own, but together, together-

They can do it. They have to.

He's not going to let her throw her life away.


	97. 97: Friday

**97**

* * *

Why is she doing this to herself?

She doesn't want to be in her apartment alone.

But she needs to stop touching him, stop making that ache flare to life in his shoulder with every jostling needy touch-

She doesn't want to be in her apartment alone, and she doesn't want to be the reason he keeps waking up (_I just want to see you, Beckett) _but that doesn't mean she can't be closer, can't find some comfort somewhere else.

Kate slips out of her bed and scrapes the hair off her face, feels more fall out, tangle in her fingers. She's a wreck again, for some reason. Why today? Yesterday was pretty good; she got about six hours of sleep and came back to a Castle that was markedly more with it.

They had a good night. She kissed him before she left him to Alexis and his mother, and he sneaked a little tongue into it, made her smile.

But now she's going to fall apart. She's going to lose it, she really is.

She needs to sleep. She craves sleep. Six hours yesterday was like the dam breaking; it let loose all she was carefully holding back.

Just a few hours. All she needs. Just so she can stop thinking in circles.

She's going back to the 12th.

Kate steps into her living room, seeking something, restless, and sees the moon glint through the window, feels her knees drop to the floor with a crack that rattles her teeth, snaps her jaw shut, the sharp burst of immediate and overwhelming fear.

Not in front of the windows, Beckett. Fuck.

She is losing it.

She needs to go; she has to get out of here.

She grabs her phone, keys; she packed a bag when she got back, and it's waiting at the door. She's already calling security and letting them know. She'll have the guy downstairs drive her.

Just his bed. If she can slip between the sheets of his bed, her brain will fall silent and she knows she can sleep.

* * *

She jogs up the stairs to his loft, can't stay still long enough to wait for the elevator. And it's late anyway, so late; it's not like anybody is gonna be around to see her.

She pauses when she reaches his floor, feeling a lot better now that she's breathless, now that her heart pounds with the physical exertion rather than the panic threatening to burst out.

The bag thrown over her shoulder tugs uncomfortably at the muscles in her neck. She sets it down, reaches for the keys in her pocket as her heartbeat progressively slows.

Her fingers easily find the key to the loft, its shape so very different from the one to her own apartment, and she lets her thumb scrape over the little dents, relief unfurling in her stomach.

Martha and Alexis will be in bed, she hopes as she pushes the door open. She doesn't really want to explain why she felt the need to come here at one in the morning, why she couldn't sleep in her own bed.

But the living-room is dark and quiet, just what she needs, and Kate drops her bag onto the floor, closes the door with a small sigh, resting her forehead against the dark wood.

Their door.

Her body flames just to remember that night, his eyes, his hands, his mouth on her; and even if she also knows the terrible wait in the hospital, even if she knows the red gurgle of his blood under her palms, she can never bring herself to regret that moment.

_I just want you._

It's still true. Still so agonizingly true - if she can just have him, if they will let her have him, let them both live-

Her mouth opens on a silent sob at the door, her hand clawing, but she pushes it back, makes a fist, pushes herself back before she can lose it.

His bed - his bed is what she needs. His smell in the sheets. And sleep. Oh god, yes, sleep.

She picks up her bag, leaving her shoes by the door, right next to his, and she makes her way to his bedroom. She knows he's at the hospital, of course, that it won't be long before he's allowed to go home, but the loft still feels wrong without him.

His study is too quiet, lights off, computer turned off to save power; when she steps into his bedroom the sheets are wrinkled and thrown back across the bed, pillows haphazard, the exact way they must have left them before they went for a walk in Central Park.

Five days ago.

Feels like another life.

Kate rubs a hand across her face, her breath shaky in her throat. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all. But she soldiers through it, goes to his closet, starts hanging the clothes she brought next to his. It helps, the rustle of material at her fingers, the overwhelming scent of clean laundry and him; it soothes her mind, lulls her anxiety to sleep.

Everything will be fine, fine, fine.

She sheds her clothes, debates putting on the t-shirt she's stolen from him, but it's actually really warm in here. She could just sleep in her panties, the cool softness of the sheets against her naked skin. Mmm, Castle would love that, wouldn't he?

She smiles to herself and gets into bed, buries her head into the pillow, the cotton sheets so cool against her weary legs, the faint impression of his body at her back just because of that scent-

And she sleeps.

* * *

Kate is wrenched awake on a sob, throat choked, breathing in a vacuum.

She falls out of bed and the impact to her hands and knees makes her head swim, her teeth bite her tongue, tasting metal and salt.

Panic races through her blood like thoroughbreds, wild stallions at the cliff of her heart. She grunts and crams her body between the bed and the wall, his nightstand at her shoulder, pushing her cheek tightly to the box springs, eyes cracked open.

Oh shit. Oh God.

Fuck.

She presses her hands to her mouth but the sob is louder this time; her knees are hard arrows into her breasts, lungs crushed.

Her brain is rioting; the mob of memories has nothing to hold it back, no wall, no defenses. Everything floods right through her - blood, panic, death.

Shit. Please. Her hands won't stop trembling; she's going to throw up. Everything is crushing her. She can't move, can't breathe, can't imagine how she could ever escape.

They're going to die. She's going to kill him. The desperate clutch of her love paints a blood-red target over his heart.

He's going to die. Everything good, everyone dies.

And because the universe likes to fuck with her, the Zapruder film starts jerkily in her mind's eye: the presidential car traveling the wide avenue, the afternoon's washed out light, the clutch of Kennedy's hands to his throat, the rocking motion of his body when the head shot comes, and then the terrible, sickening scramble of his wife to stuff the brain matter back inside, back where it goes, where it will never go again.

It's not Jackie Kennedy this time; it's Kate. It's Kate, it's Kate, and she will never be able to put it back together.

* * *

Her hand shakes as she pours a drink, the sound of the decanter against the glass makes her bones feel brittle. She stands behind his desk, needy in a way that scares the shit out of her, and then she grips the glass and forces herself out of his study.

Out.

Through the dark and quiet living room, the alcohol intoxicating just in the burn of its scent, and she can feel it slosh onto her fingers as she walks quickly. Without thinking, she lifts the glass, switches hands so she can lick the drop-

Fuck.

She grunts and pushes her traitorous body to the kitchen sink, tips the glass over before the taste can get her.

She needs it. She needs nothingness and some damn fucking sleep, but she needs to not fall apart more than she needs a good, messy, drunk-cry.

She did this once, last year, and she knows now that it doesn't go so well for her.

She needs-

Well, fuck, she needs to get a handle on this right now, because it is entirely irresponsible and completely out of bounds for her to show up at his loft while his family is asleep and drink herself blind. She is not letting Martha or Alexis find her sobbing on the floor, her wrist bloodied and her psyche in shambles.

Even if her sleeplessness is triggering the panic attack, this is not the way to handle it.

Go through the steps. Remember what works. Breathe.

Okay, she is breathing.

She is breathing and her lungs are still squeezed by a loose fist, but she is making them work.

The glass is empty and the decanter in his study is too heavy for her to risk lifting again. She nearly dropped it, won't be trying it again.

She is breathing, the glass is empty, and his daughter is upstairs asleep with Martha right across the hall and both of them are - if not against her any longer, then definitely not thrilled with her. She never expected to have a problem from Martha, but the woman has been _acting_ around her, faking it, ever since Castle was shot-

Fuck. Oh God, she needs him.

Breathing isn't working. Meditation leads her brain in tail-chasing circles. She needs him.

And why the hell not? He'd never say no to her.

Kate leaves the glass in the sink and heads back for the bedroom, finds her phone in the floor at the foot of the bed. Not sure how it got there, not really cognizant of what she's been doing the last hour other than slowly beating the back of her head against his wall and trying to talk herself out of the crazy idea that she and Jackie Onassis have anything in common, but she picks it up and calls his hospital room.

And he answers.

"Uh. Hello?"

"Rick."

"Kate?"

"Oh God," she moans, sinks to the floor with her eyes closed as the wave of panic rushes back over her once more. "Can you - can you-"

"Kate, what's going on? What time is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm not okay," she blurts out, pushes it past her effort to breathe. Her body crumples over, slumps down, and she rocks, her forehead touching the floor. "Not - I can't breathe."

"Kate, hey, it's - what's going on? I don't know what's going on."

Breathe, Kate. Breathe. You can't scare him like this.

"Panic attack-"

"Oh, Kate."

Well, that might be worse. The grief on the line-

"Talk - talk to me," she gets out, her voice broken as she tries not to sob in his ear.

"Okay, I can do that. I can talk. I'm good at that. Jeez, I can't believe you - but I haven't slept in an hour or so, couldn't stop thinking. The drugs have my nights and days confused and I'm glad I'm up. I'm so glad you called me, Kate."

He's not as helpful as she hoped. In fact, he's rambling. And the wandering of his voice gives her entirely too much rope to hang herself with her own thoughts.

"Hey, just breathe. Breathe through it, and you'll be fine. Right?"

She has a death grip on her phone, curls on her side to press it between her ear and the floor, her breaths shaky and shallow but still coming.

"I can hear you," he murmurs. "You're okay. You're not alone, Kate. Where are you?"

She grinds her teeth to keep from letting out another sob. "Loft."

"My mother is there. Ah, no, that doesn't work, she's not happy about - Alexis. Wake Alexis; she has great hugs. My mother would pour you a drink and I doubt that would really help. Would it help? It might. Hey Kate? I've got-"

"No," she sighs and the wave seems to be going out again, dragging at her but still receding. "Drinking. Not a good idea."

"Okay, well, you wanna hear about my night after you left? It's scintillating."

She feels the awkward weight of a laugh drawn out of her chest, like it's been hooked by him and reeled up, floundering in her mouth.

"So I got jabbed in the ass by the pharmacist. Some kind of vaccination for people over forty. Those were her words. As if it's not degrading enough that I'm laid up in bed with people waking me at all hours to check my vitals and asking me if I've had a bowel movement, but now I've got this twenty year old giving me a shot for old people-"

She chokes on the feeling in her chest, something like laughter again, something like relief, and her body melts to the floor. She can hear his waiting silence, his regular breathing, his tenderness and tiredness and helplessness and even the pain.

"I love you," she sighs, and she can't fight the struggle of her eyelids any longer, the heavy press against her body, the darkness that waits for her now that panic has released its electric grip.

It's a losing battle.

"I love you," he sighs back, like a melody, like a lullaby, and she's unconscious.

* * *

He feels like he's been waiting for her all morning. Ever since she called him at three am. Even his dreams were full of her, happy dreams and less happy dreams, kinda blurry at the edges, her strong, beautiful presence the only clear memory that stays with him.

So when she finally comes in, his daughter in tow, he's utterly disappointed.

There's no way he can mention Kate's panic attack in front of Alexis. First, because he's certain she hasn't told his daughter; and second, because he knows exactly how reserved she is, how unwilling to let people see her as weak.

He has to keep all his carefully-constructed sentences in check, has to make small talk instead, focus on Alexis while sneaking looks at Kate, trying to make sure.

She seems okay, confident and rested. Her hair is pulled together at the back of her head, a few curls dancing along her neck; her mouth opens readily on a smile or a laugh, her eyes bright when she looks at him. She's even wearing heels, which he can't help thinking of as a pretty good sign.

Still, he's incredibly relieved when Alexis finally slips out of his room to go get herself a soda. And yeah, he feels like a pretty terrible dad, but he just - he needs five minutes alone with Kate.

Five minutes just to reassure himself that she really is fine.

Her eyes are averted, hands buried in her jeans' pockets, and he hates that he can't go to her. That he has to call her name, a soft nudge, and hope that she'll respond.

She does, though. She heaves a deep sigh and then turns her eyes to him, comes closer, her thigh against the bedrail. Her fingers find his, tangle.

"Thanks for last night, Castle," she says, and the small smile on her lips just - breaks his heart. "Guess I should be making you pancakes?"

His mouth quirks. He's so glad she didn't say, _I'm sorry._

"Thanks for calling me," he answers, struggles not to let the relief pour into his voice. She was having a panic attack and she _called him_, and he can't even - there are no words to describe the tight clamp of gratitude in his chest.

"You okay?" he asks finally, because he can't _not_.

She nods slowly, her eyes warm on his. "Yeah," she says. "Got all the sleep I needed - let me put things in perspective again."

He strokes his thumb against her palm, wishing so badly he could have been with her. Not that he would have been able to do more than he did on the phone - probably not - but he still-

Wishes he could have held her in his arms. Even if it hurt.

"Think it's gonna happen again?" he asks, mostly to distract himself from his useless regrets.

She half-shrugs, worries her bottom lip with her teeth. "It might," she says honestly. "Hard to predict. I kinda thought I was okay - that the worst was behind me. Probably why it happened last night."

He wants to go home. He really does. It kills him, to think of her alone in the bedroom, hurting and unable to breathe, no control over it.

"Think you should call Burke?" he suggests, making sure it truly sounds like a question.

This is her life; it's not for him to manage it.

"I did, actually. Called him this morning. But there's only so much he can do, you know? I'm the only one who can know what works for me, find things that will allow me to keep my head above water instead of letting the irrational feelings drown me."

She's so casual about it, so matter of fact. He knows that's her way to deal, _don't let it matter_, but he has trouble accepting that when he remembers her breathless, broken voice in his ear, all the tears he could hear her fighting back.

"And have you?" he says, has to be more specific when she shoots him a confused look. "Have you found things that help?"

She watches him for a moment, a smile dancing in her eyes, at the edge of her mouth. Then she leans in, pushing a soft kiss to his lips, feathers her fingers at his jaw before she whispers.

"Well, I called you, didn't I?"


	98. 98: Saturday

**98**

* * *

She's having a good day.

Dr Burke told her that this morning when she went in for her appointment; he cleared her for active duty within the first five minutes of their conversation and then smiled and said, _You're going to have a good day._

Maybe it's a self-fulfilling prophecy, maybe it's psychosomatic, but she is. She is having a pretty damn fine day.

She squeezes off another round and hits center of mass on the paper target. Then a cluster of rapid fire shots all aimed perfectly. Not a single stray, not a moment's hesitation. She's got this.

She told Castle that if they wanted a war, she was ready for one. And then she met Maddox. So she ran away, and he look what happened - he came after her again. Now, she doesn't want war - she wants to shut this down. She wants to crush this reign of capricious violence in the city she loves. For the people she loves.

Guerrilla warfare doesn't work; she can't hope to sneak around behind the backs of the NYPD, her boss, the people orchestrating this conspiracy. It's already too late; she's learned her lesson. They don't fight fair. So she's going back to end it.

Beckett passes her requalification easily, and then she spends an hour practicing, loving the warming metal of her weapon, remembering the pressure it takes against the trigger, and then cleaning it and returning it to the range master. She'll be allowed to have it back when she goes in.

Monday. When Beckett goes in on Monday.

* * *

When Castle woke up, the sun was shining brightly outside his window, and the square of sky he's privy too was a pale but comforting blue. Now it's turned grey, the clouds gathering, coming together like a flock of sheep, but still - it's not going to alter Rick's good mood.

He feels better.

Not _going to run a marathon _better, but for what seems like the first time all week, he feels the effects of a good night's sleep. Yup. Pretty heavenly.

So he waits not-so-patiently for his favorite nurse, the only one who doesn't look at him like he's crazy when he asks how soon he'll be able to get out. Molly - he knows her name now.

He wishes he had his phone. He's dying to play Draw Something, or Angry Birds, _anything_. Kate brought him his laptop, in case he wants to write, but he's not really in a writing mood right now. He feels restless, too much energy trapped in a body confined to a hospital bed, when all he wants to do is move.

Bad idea, Rick.

He sighs.

Where is his daughter, anyway? He needs some distraction over here. His mother said she had things to take care off at her acting school; classes are going to be starting soon, and he completely understands. And he knows Kate's gone to the shooting range. But Alexis?

Alexis should be here, comforting her old Dad. Honestly, what's the use of having children if they don't-

"Everything okay in here, Mr Castle?"

Oh, hey. Here's Molly, at least.

"Yeah," he says, smiling at her as she comes close, takes a look at his chart. "Much better today, actually. Feels like it's time to go home."

Nudge nudge, wink wink. He's so subtle.

The nurse looks at him, arches a too-knowing eyebrow. "You think so, huh?"

He gives her a wide-eyed look, his mouth turns into a pout, pours all his heart into it. _Please._

She laughs. Darn.

"They're not going to let you go today, Mr Castle," she tells him with a shake of her head, a soft smile. "Tomorrow at the very best, if you're really, _really_ doing better. Tomorrow might be your best shot."

He heaves a deep sigh, throws his head back into the pillow. Ouch. That hurt.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" she asks, wincing sympathetically.

"Nutella truffles?" he says, dreaming out loud.

She huffs another laugh. "Sorry, I'm afraid the vending machine doesn't have those."

He opens his eyes again, gives her a small grin. "That's too bad. I'm gonna file a complaint as soon as I leave, trust me."

"You do that. I could go for some nutella truffles on my break." She gives him that arch of her thin eyebrow and he eases forward in bed, glancing down at the pile of his stuff in the floor.

"Um, actually," he says more seriously, "can you give me the black notebook that's on the lower shelf of the - yeah, that's the one. Thanks."

His fingers brush over the leather cover, the familiar shape of the pencil.

"Anything else?" Molly asks. He shakes his head and she smiles, moves towards the door. "Okay, well, I'll be back later to check on you. Don't do anything crazy," she warns, and he wonders exactly how transparent he is.

Eh. Maybe Kate told on him.

He slides open the notebook, fingers through pages of random notes, doodles, Beckett quotes. He might be too restless to write, but maybe he can toy with plot ideas for his next novel, do something useful at least.

Huh, look at that. Sometimes he can hardly decipher his own handwriting. It's easy to tell whenever he's gotten excited about a scene or idea, because the letters all run into each other, cramped, the ink smeared on the page because he couldn't wait for it to dry. This one could be a character sketch of some villain - m_ysterious man_, he reads, and _a voice on the phone - _oh - he remembers this.

Smith. That's who he was thinking of at the time, his mind intent on trying to understand the man, his motivations. _I'm a friend of Roy Montgomery's._

Smith's protection. Ha. A whole lot of good it did them.

Rick traces the curves of the letters with his index finger, his mind wandering, considering.

Secrets and lies. All last year.

Maybe they went at this all wrong.

* * *

When she gets outside, her body is still humming with the smoke and cordite of the firing range, and the humidity of the morning air slides around her like a sensual hand. She sheds her jacket and pulls her phone out, wishes Castle was allowed his iphone in the hospital room. But she calls the phone at his bedside and hopes he's awake to pick it up.

"Lady Irena's House of Pain."

Kate barks out a laugh and feels her face flush as pedestrians give her strange looks, cups her hand around the phone as she strides for the subway station at the end of the block. "You in pain, Castle?"

"Not really. Just always wanted to say that."

Jeez, she loves him. How did that happen? "How's it going?"

"It's been okay so far. Better now. Looks stormy out there - you know what lightning does to me now. When are you coming by?"

Kate smirks, bites her bottom lip to keep from laughing again. Lightning. "On my way now."

"All smoking hot and smelling like bad-assness?"

"You asking me if I smell like an ass, Rick?"

"Ah, um. . ."

She grins and watches the wind pick up some trash in the street, press a plastic bag against the base of a skinny tree.

"Uh-huh," she murmurs. "But yes, I'm done at the range. Weapons re-qualification is out of the way-"

"How was Burke's?" he says quickly.

"Good. Actually. It was good."

"Good," he repeats, sounding a little inane, but warm on the other end of the line. She can see thunderheads building in the sky and picks up her feet.

"I should be there in about twenty or thirty minutes," she says, gauging the weather with a hesitant sniff at the air. Burned ozone-

And there's the lightning, a flicker just west of her. And yeah, it kinda does it for her too. At least, it has memories attached now, their first night, how his body looked illuminated by the white-blue flash, how it seemed to be perfectly timed to. . .all the best parts.

"Hey, Kate, glad you called. I need to let you know. When my mother came up this morning, she said a couple of photographers were hanging out by the main doors. Usual fare, nothing too crazy."

Oh. The press. Photos on page six. Her face linked to him-

Or, well, actually. The publicity isn't really about her and him, is it? It's all Castle.

"Because you were shot," she murmurs. "That's - Paula and I talked right after you got out of surgery. She released a statement, and maybe I shouldn't have been the one, but there wasn't really anyone else to ask. Alexis helped me word it."

"She told me," he says softly. "Partners, Kate. It needed to be done."

Her breath comes quickly, tasting storms on her tongue. "Yeah. You read it?"

"I did. Sounds fine. But see, the press being downstairs might be a good thing. See, here's what I was thinking."

She feels the storm breaking just past her, the scent of rain and wet pavement filling her nose. She dashes the last few feet and makes it into the subway station, pausing on the steps off to one side so she can keep her cell phone reception.

"What were you thinking?" she prompts him, watching the rain - at first in scattered fistfuls, and then fatter, juicier drops.

"We should let them know. Let the city know what we're dealing with. We know who shot me. He thinks he's untouchable. But let's put his name out there, let's talk about the conspiracy, make it clear what we're up against. I'm moderately famous - let's use it to our advantage."

She catches her breath, her body held away from the subway tunnel, people huddling on the stairs with her, unwilling to go out into the summer downpour. Alexis has a week before she's got to be in school, Kate is going back to the 12th, Castle will have rehab and therapy and be miserable for a while, but he'll be at her side soon enough-

"You trying to turn yourself into Batman here, Castle?"

"Yeah. Doing my best. Only I don't need a cape, more's the pity; the bad guys already know who I am. They know where we live; they follow us to Central Park. So we let everyone else know too. If the whole city has the same information we do-"

"Safety in numbers," she murmurs. Too big a mess to clean up.

"Exactly. No more secrets and lies, Kate. It doesn't work. The truth will set us free."

She turns towards the dark tunnel, her back to the rain, feels the thunder rumbling out overhead. "Let me think. I'm in the subway, my phone is going to cut out in a second, but let me think about this."

"Okay," he says quietly. "How about this? Avoid the front doors if you don't want the publicity. But if you do - if you think I'm right - then, Kate?"

"Yeah?" she says, hearing the clamor of raindrops just past her, feeling the press of bodies as it gets crowded on the subway steps. She wonders if there's lightning out there, brilliant and dazzling displays from cloud to cloud that she can't see right now.

"If you're with me on this, then use them. Give them something to quote. Get pissed and let them know. I don't care what you say - I trust you. Anything you want - about me, about the shooter, about the conspiracy, about us."

"About us," she repeats, takes that next step down into the subway station.

"About us."

"Okay," she says quietly. "Let me think."

She absolutely can_not_ put him and his family in any more danger.

* * *

When she shows up at his hospital room, her hair is damp and curling a little, her hand around her phone, her eyes on him. He tries to read there what's happened, but he can't.

She comes inside, holding a hand out to Alexis with a little squeeze, and then Kate's at his bed, her fingers trailing up his forearm, along his uninjured shoulder, finally running through his hair. Her lips brush his forehead.

"I came in the main doors," she says.

His heart flips.

No more secrets.

* * *

He feels stronger tonight, and he knows it's not just the sleep, not just his body being on the road to recovery, not even the certainty of leaving the hospital tomorrow (Molly was right).

It's the hours spent with his family, with Kate and Alexis surrounding his bed, joking and messing with him, making him laugh.

It's the strong squeeze of Kate's fingers against his, the determination in her green eyes, the beautiful lift of her mouth. The knowledge that they're in this together.

She talked to the press.

His mind still reels from the fact, disbelief and excitement taking turns. Kate Beckett, who has to be the most reserved, the most private person he knows, talked to the press. Her whole life - her family's tragedy - being shot last summer, and now this.

She talked to the press.

He makes Alexis go home, sends Kate with her, claiming exhaustion. And it's true, it really is. He can't keep his eyes open, and it's a natural and only slightly aching sleep that greets him.

They're ready for this; they're doing it the right way - out in the open, in the light, where the truth can be seen and the lies tossed out like garbage.

The Dragon doesn't have any idea what he's up against.


	99. 99: Sunday

**99**

* * *

Castle kinda hates that Kate and Alexis are there to see the nurse maneuver him into a wheelchair, but he's going to have to get used to it. Kate will probably be around to see a lot more humiliating attempts at recovery, even if Alexis is out of the house, but hopefully Beckett will be at the precinct enough that he'll have the space to be a baby without fear of unmanliness.

Also, he'll have the loft to himself, for the most part. Alexis leaves for college on Thursday, his mother will be working at her school; he can moan and throw a few pity parties for himself behind closed doors, then get his game face on for when Kate comes by for dinner.

(Or, like in his fantasies, she sneaks inside with her key, wakes him up with a deep kiss, and just that black, lace-)

Rick swallows hard and shifts in the wheelchair as Kate's fingers skim his shoulder, curl at his neck.

"You good?" she murmurs.

"Fine. Yeah." _Fantasizing about you._

"There are a few photographers downstairs. So we can do main doors or sneak out-"

"How's my hair?" he says, giving her twitch of his lips.

Some of her sober and braced-for-impact air falls away; her thumb strokes his nape as she leans over and kisses him softly. "Your hair is. . .let's call it the hospital special."

He grins, watches her retreat. "Then I'm ready for my adoring public. I gotta look the part, right?"

"I hate that you do," she murmurs, and he ignores that because he had a good day yesterday, so did she, and he's not letting her second guess their course of action.

The nurse returns with his doctor, and Castle wishes he could tell Molly good-bye. But her shift doesn't start until 7, and he's not sticking around for that. He wants to get home - his own bed - some DVR and ice cream and maybe Kate will stay for a while tonight, let him stroke his fingers through her hair until he gets sleepy.

Yeah. Perfect day. For a guy who's been shot.

"You ready to break out of here, Mr Castle?"

He glances up to the doctor and nods. "Definitely. Release the Kraken."

Alexis is the only one who laughs.

* * *

He does walk in on his own steam; he's proud of that. He feels all right - not good, a long country mile from great - but he can walk into his loft and let Kate guide him to his bedroom.

He lets out a controlled breath and eases down onto the bed, sitting on the edge for a moment with his eyes closed. Kate doesn't touch him, doesn't hover, and he realizes just how good she is at this. Previous experience.

"I'd have made you crazy," he acknowledges, his eyes still closed to keep control of the trembling that wants to shake his limbs.

"What?"

"Last summer. I'd have made you absolutely stark raving-"

Her mouth on his is a shock, but such a lovely way to shut him up. He parts her lips with the brush of his tongue, strange to be kissing her without his hands on her or hers on him, just the touch of this one electric contact.

When she pulls back, he opens his eyes, finds hers so startlingly green. So green. The afternoon light pours in his windows and highlights every gorgeous plane of her bone structure, limns her lashes with fairy dust and her lips with that soft and tender smile.

"Hey," he murmurs, still catching his breath. Nicked lung or just what Kate does to him? Hard to say.

"I've missed you," she murmurs, and her forefinger and thumb come up to stroke at his jaw. "It was strange to be here and you not."

"Here now."

She hums something and taps on his knees; at her silent direction, he lifts his feet into bed and gingerly scoots back against the headboard. Kate strokes her hand up his shin as she moves for the closet, his bag in her hand.

"Don't unpack stuff. Leave it," he says. "Come back here."

But she's already got the closet door open and he sees her pause in the threshold, a huge black suitcase at her feet, spilling over.

A black suitcase.

In his closet.

"Kate?"

She shrugs and drops his bag on the floor, _next to her suitcase_, and then she comes back to him, a knee on the mattress as she leans over and crawls into bed with him.

"You're right. I'll leave it. I can do it when you fall asleep. Which should be in. . .oh, ten minutes or so." She grins at him as she comes, laughing at his constant and sudden napping-narcolepsy, and she takes up a spot beside him, leaning against the headboard as well.

"Wait. Right. Okay, but-"

"But what?" She's on his good side, and she tilts lightly towards him, runs her fingers down his forearm to tangle their hands.

"You - is that your suitcase in there with like clothes for a year?"

"Yeah. I'll move it. It's blocking the whole closet, I know. Actually, I should just hang everything up, but I have some stuff I need drawers for, and I wanted to ask you first-"

"Ask me what?" he gasps, because if he doesn't know better, it sounds like Kate Beckett has moved in with him.

She eyes him. "Which drawer I can have? You have a lot of clothes, Castle, and you're very particular about them. I didn't want to move the wrong-"

"Wait, no, the clothes? What do I care? But the drawer - the suitcase - did you just move in with me?"

She laughs - _she laughs_ - and an eyebrow goes up, her mouth is in that pressed lips smile that gets him every damn time, and he puts a sloppy, excited kiss on it, laughing back.

"You moved in. Kate. You moved-"

"Just for now, Castle," she says, still laughing at him, but it's gentler like she's giving him bad news. "Just while you need me."

"I always need you," he says adamantly.

"While you're laid up, then," she corrects, smoothing a hand at his jaw. "It's not long, Castle. I just didn't think it was a good idea to have no one else in the house with you who could - well, pick you up off the floor if-"

"That is so not sexy or romantic, Kate Beckett."

"It wasn't meant to be," she says, and even though his face is right up against hers, he can still see that smile. "It's completely practical."

"Hush," he murmurs, kissing her again. "You're ruining my nice illusions."

"That's my job in this relationship. Realist," she says back, but she accepts his kiss, moves to the corner of his mouth, and pushes in closer. "I will be going back home, Rick. Don't get used to me being here."

"Too late."

* * *

Alexis treats him like he'll break, but Kate's been there, and she just can't. Castle keeps shooting her these appreciative looks, like he's grateful for it. They are more alike than she knew.

The plan for today is endless television - or at least until she and Alexis can get Castle to take his pain pill and fall asleep. It might take some cleverness on Kate's part.

Alexis curls up at her father's good side, her head on his thigh as they flip through the DVR. Kate is restless, unable to sit down and stay there, knowing her needs meds and some rest, but after she grabs another water bottle and his pills, and then gets back up for - she doesn't know what - Castle reaches across his body to grab her.

"Sit."

She pauses, studies his face, and then sinks back down onto the bed. She keeps herself away from him - she's on his injured side - but he pouts at her and strokes his fingers along the inside of her wrist.

Kate sighs and slides a little closer, making sure she's not against his shoulder, and then she lays her hand on his thigh. He lets go of her wrist and puts his palm back over Alexis's shoulder.

His daughter keeps searching through programs. "We watched all of these, right, Kate?"

"I think so," she murmurs back, her body stiff from keeping it carefully away from him.

"And I don't feel like cop shows," Alexis mutters.

"I hardly ever feel like cop shows. Too much like work."

Alexis laughs, her head tilting back on Castle's knee to look at Kate. "I never thought of that. You're right." She glances back to the tv listing. "Reality tv?"

"Not in the mood, really." Too much reality lately.

"Hm," Alexis draws out. Kate runs her fingers over and over Castle's hip, feels her body unwind even if his doesn't. He's home. They're okay. He's going to be okay.

They have security downstairs; she has work tomorrow. Alexis moves into her dorm room on Thursday, so things will be getting back to a new normal soon enough. This is nice, the three of them together one last weekend. If she stops thinking about it so much, she could almost believe nothing is wrong.

"How about this?" the girl says. "I can't find anything else that looks good."

Kate glances to the screen, sees she's stopped on a sci-fi show, then looks to Castle for his approval. He's got his head tilted back against the headboard, his eyes fluttering, mouth in a tight grimace. Yeah, that's what she thought.

"That's good, Alexis," she says. "Go ahead."

Alexis doesn't look back at her father, just plays the episode, snuggling in against his leg. She pulls a blanket up over her legs and leaves the remote on the bed, but she does shoot Kate a conspiratorial glance.

Kate turns her body into his, making sure not to touch his shoulder, his right side at all. "Castle," she murmurs, waiting until his eyes open for good, staring up at the ceiling. "You need to take a pill."

She keeps her voice soft so he won't think Alexis can hear, and she sees Castle's throat work.

"I know it makes you tired, but it also keeps you from tensing up. Trust me on this. You need to stay relaxed."

He lifts his head carefully from the back of the bed frame, gives her a long look.

She turns and grabs the pills and the bottle of water, offers them to him. "I'm hoping I can keep you from making the same mistakes I did."

Castle sighs, giving the medicine an evil look. He lifts his hand from Alexis and plucks one of the pills from Kate's palm, throws it back with an awkward and tense movement that tells her just how badly he must feel, and then he downs the water.

He gives a little cough, wincing, and then Kate takes the water bottle back, puts it and the other pill on the bedside table, and sits back gingerly against the headboard.

Castle reaches across his body and snags her fingers, lacing them together, running his thumb along her knuckles.

She studies his face for a moment; he's not watching the show at all, she can tell. He's keeping himself held together against the pain of sitting up, despite all the pillows around him.

She waits and it takes a little while, but his body eventually eases, his eyes slip shut.

After a few minutes more, Kate leans down and touches Alexis's shoulder. "He's asleep."

Alexis lifts up, dropping the act, and gives Kate a soft sigh. "Good. That's good. Thank you, Kate."

"He'll be fine. Let's let him rest."

And the two women slide out of Castle's bed and head for the door.

* * *

"They're talking about it on the fan site," Alexis murmurs.

Kate glances over her shoulder, both of them sitting at the dining room table. Alexis said she needed to work on last minute school stuff, but Kate knew from the beginning that the girl was surfing the internet for news. She's just grateful for the company; it's too quiet out here with Castle dozing in the bedroom.

"Yeah?" Kate tries to read quickly as Alexis scrolls. "Good stuff or bad stuff?"

"Uh. Little of both. I might-" Alexis pulls the laptop towards herself, gives Kate a look. "Maybe I should enforce the Castle rule here."

"What?" Kate laughs. "What is the Castle rule?"

"You don't get to read anything about yourself. You have to go through me."

Kate rolls her eyes. "Your dad's got an ego. I don't."

"You'd be surprised what hurts," Alexis says quietly, fiercely, and reaches out to grasp Kate by the wrist, as if holding her back. "Let me look first."

Kate sits back, surprised to find that the girl is actually trying to protect her. Like family. "Okay," she breathes out. "You look first."

Alexis nods and goes back to scrolling through the message boards. Kate sits at the table with her, paperwork for the 12th spread in front of her. All kinds of forms she's got to sign and get in order so that she can go back on Monday. She also got a dressing down from the Captain about sharing information with the press on active cases, but Kate couldn't care less: it was in an email and she has a feeling that Gates didn't really mean it.

"Okay, it's not so bad, actually." Alexis gives her a fleeting smile. "Most people kinda hate your guts for snatching Dad off the market-"

Kate rolls her eyes.

"-but they're crazy. There are some good discussions about the guy behind this. Theories flying around - maybe he's a senator for New York, maybe he was a rival mafia boss, maybe he's a judge-"

"A _judge_-" Kate gasps. "That's ridiculous."

"Yeah, you know they're all fans of a mystery writer, Kate."

She grins back at Alexis. "Point taken. Go on."

"Not much else really. A few people are serious on here though, talking about how awful it is that this has been going on for the last twenty years and no one stopped it."

She nods. "Good. We need some people taking this seriously."

"I did some google news searches as well," Alexis adds slowly. "Dad's shooting got picked up, and then there's a kind of aside about how his girlfriend the detective has her own theory, but-"

"Oh, damn," Kate mutters, pressing her hand to her forehead. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Great," she says, wiping her hand down her face and staring into the darkness. "That does us no good. Acting like I'm some dumb, paranoid girlfriend."

"You never know, Kate. It's at least out there. I'm proud of you guys."

Kate shook her head. "Well, thanks?"

"It's kind of scary to talk to them, I know. Especially when you feel like they have all the advantages, when you need them so badly to get it right. And we all know they never do. They never do. But you still did it."

Kate gave his daughter a wan smile and pressed her palms flat against the table, kept herself together. As soon as Castle felt better, he said he wanted to do a sit-down interview, make it clear to people what was going on.

It could still work. If they build up enough momentum over this thing, it could truly work.

It just might keep their family safe.

* * *

It's late and he should be sleeping. He is, sort of. A little bit.

He's waiting for Kate to come to bed.

Hm. Taking a long time.

He lets his eyes drift shut again, not bothered by the gentle light of the bedside lamp, and rolls onto his side-

The pain is fierce and immediate, burns bright through his chest; Castle yelps, can't keep it in, a string of curses getting past his clenched teeth as his head falls back against the pillow, his hands fists on the sheets, his body frozen.

Fuck, fuck-

"Castle."

And of course Kate heard him. He hears the soft patting of feet as she comes to his side, but keeps his eyes tightly shut, doesn't want to see the concern on her face, the sympathy leaking from her eyes.

She knows too much, knows exactly what it's like, and while there are times when it comes in handy, right now it's no help at all.

"I'm fine," he grunts, feels her fingers at his temple, light and tender, her body bent over his. "Fine. Just tried to roll over. My bad."

His voice is strained, thin, but he can't do better than that when the pain is still sizzling through his nerves, all of him on fire.

"Rick," she sighs softly, and her lips brush his jaw, delicate, her love cresting the wave of his agony.

He wants her to go.

He wants a moment to himself to get this under control, let the hurt wash away before he can pull himself together again; but when he opens his mouth to tell her, he's met with her kiss, a slow, tentative kiss, a touch of her tongue.

His focus shifts.

And it helps.

It's not like the fiery throb vanishes, of course not, but his nerve endings get distracted by this new attraction, the wet, open cave of her mouth against his, and it makes it easier to breathe until the pain ebbs away, until his body recovers from the aggression of movement.

"Better?" she murmurs after a moment, still so very close.

"Uh-huh," he answers stupidly, a little dazed, his senses overwhelmed with her.

"You gotta be more careful, Castle," she says, her nose nudging his.

He huffs. "Half-asleep is what I was."

She tilts her head at him, eyes shimmering and rich in the soft light. "And asleep is what you should be. You need to rest."

"Wanna rest with me?" he suggests, lifting an eyebrow and trying his best not to sound too pathetic.

She pressed her mouth together, smiles through it.

"You're not quite up for it yet," she says, gentle.

"Why, Detective Beckett, such a dirty mind. I was only suggesting an innocent nap."

"Naps are never innocent with you."

"Just lie down with me," he presses, suddenly tired of their game, not able to keep up the banter tonight. She gives him a look and he knows he's given himself away, revealed just how badly he needs painless sleep, but he doesn't care as long as it gets him the pliant length of Kate's body against his.

She stands up with a last brush of her fingers to his, moves around the bed, shedding her clothes as she goes. Shorts first, then off go her socks, her tank top, her bra.

He can't tear his eyes away from the graceful curve of her breasts, stares at her as she reaches for the shapeless t-shirt she often wears to bed. His body reacts to the sight of her, even in his exhaustion, even when he knows there's nothing he can do about it.

Kate slips between the sheets, the bare expanse of her legs disappearing from his view, and he curls a hand around her neck, brings her closer.

"I'm going to hurt you," she protests quietly, but he tugs anyway, pulls until the warmth of her body is aligned with his. He runs his fingers in her hair until she eases against him, tangling his hand at her neck.

He twists to press a kiss to her mouth, traces her bottom lip with his tongue, delighting in her soft intake of air, how readily she parts for him.

He untangles his hand and feels for the thin cotton of her t-shirt, fingers brushing her abs on his way up. He cups her gently, his thumb sliding over her, feels her body catch at his touch.

"Castle," she says, just a breath over his lips. "You can't-"

"No," he murmurs, lets his hand drift down, skimming her belly button, farther. "But you can."

She lets out a shaky sigh. "But-"

"You said you missed me - _here_," he murmurs, pressing hard, grinning with his mouth at her jaw.

"Yes," she gasps, hips moving. "Oh, I've missed you, Castle."


	100. 100: Monday

**100**

* * *

She's trying not to wake him; he can tell. But the pain keeps his sleep rather surface and the moment she slides out of bed and turns the alarm off before it can blare, he's awake.

Castle slides his eyes half-open, watches her from the slits of his heavy lids. He's propped up against the headboard, a mountain of pillows, entirely uncomfortable in this position, his arm in a sling to keep it immobile but his whole body aching. Kate is walking quietly to the bathroom, scraping her hair back with a hand, and she looks nervous.

First-day nervous. Cute, adorable, and a little heart-breaking. He can imagine her as a five year old with her My Little Pony lunchbox, her hair in a pony tail, making that long walk to the school, barely able to push open the heavy doors, slipping inside before they can slam shut on her.

The picture is so vivid, he can't let it go.

So he stops pretending to sleep and waits until she's made it to the bathroom, closed the door softly behind her, and then he lets out a long breath, trying to think.

He wants a way to show her. Prove that it's okay, that everything will be fine because they're doing this together.

His body is killing him. Kate tried to return the favor last night, but - no, as much as he wants her, he can't even stand to have her curled up against him, any motion or movement, any shift of position is agony.

She didn't look disappointed, didn't do anything but kiss him and then fall asleep on her side of the bed. Before he could fall asleep, of course, so that he spent an hour listening to her breathe, out of sorts because of the pain meds and the vice grip of tension in his shoulder and the need in his gut.

So he's still feeling brutalized.

Oh, that's an excellent word for it. He'll have to write that down for Nikki. Oh. . .well, huh, it has a strange connotation that he doesn't intend so maybe not. What could-

Wait. Focus, Rick. A way to show her-

Ohhhhh...

He grins and instinctively lifts his legs to slide out of bed - entirely forgetful, stupid, so very stupidly forgetting - and his body seizes in a rictus of agony that pierces his shoulder and shoots down into his groin.

Fuck.

Ah, crap. Shit. No damn wonder Kate didn't call him for three months. This is humiliating.

He lies in bed, half propped on pillows, half spilling out of the bed, a foot to the floor, and he tries to gather back together his frayed nerves and jittery limbs.

His breath starts to catch up to his heart, his pulse stops hammering, and then he can lower his other foot to the floor, hang out there a moment.

Okay, he's got this. He needs to slide his body across the bed and use only his leg muscles to stand - minimal ab work, no upper body strength whatsoever.

And he needs to do that now. Before she gets out of the shower and finds him sprawled like a gangly giraffe. Or a beached whale. He feels more like a beached whale, or jeez, a shipwreck. He feels like his body is a damn shipwreck.

He hates this. Abhors it with every fiber in his being, and he will stand up. He will stand up like the man he is and he will not let her see this because she has to go in to work today.

She has to.

So he stands up.

Gritting his teeth and swearing under his breath, sweat beading on his forehead and his palms clammy, but he stands up.

* * *

Kate pulls the wet hair off her neck and blows a breath out, leans forward to wipe steam from the mirror. She feels. . .

No idea. It's all a jumble.

She's still edgy and paranoid, still fighting panic attacks though they mostly come when she's alone and tired and thinking she's doing pretty well. Of course.

Kate studies her image in the mirror, but she really doesn't want to do that right now. Just. Get dressed, go to work, pretend like it's any other day.

She snatches her underwear from the pile of clothes she slipped into the bathroom with her, steps into it, fastens her bra. The raised edge of scar tissue between her breasts glows like moonlight, a pale reflection of last summer's sun. Now Castle has one too. All because of this. . .

this evil.

Three months ago, she would have said it was all because of her. She's not that twisted any longer, but there's still that sense of responsibility. She still carries this. It doesn't go away just because she closes her eyes to it and sticks her fingers in her ears.

The balance is finding a way to be an us with Castle and also be a detective.

Kate crushes her dress pants in her hand, pulls them on without stopping to think too much more. A purple dress shirt, because Castle-

Yeah, except he won't be there today.

Soon. But not today.

Kate opens the bathroom door, her head down to slip the last button in place, and nearly runs into him.

She gasps and clutches at his waist as he rocks back, hears the grunt of pain in his voice - already raw with it. "Castle. What are you-"

"I've got something for you. Before you go in." His eyes are closed, tightly reining it in she can tell. She knows that look. She can feel that look.

"Castle," she says softly, stroking the back of her hand up his chest, curling at his neck, away from his bandaged shoulder.

He opens his eyes to her and brings up his uninjured arm between them, fingers unfurling.

Her mother's ring.

The chain is hooked around his thumb and he lets the ring drop down his palm and swing in the air between them. She stares at it for a moment, her stomach churning and her body vibrating in time to the spin of the gold. He lifts his arm and she flicks her eyes up to meet his gaze, sees the agony he's keeping in check just to do this, but he starts to slide the chain over her head.

She takes a breath, but it's caught, he can't make the circle wide enough to pass it over her hair, so Kate has to raise her arm and help him.

Together, they slip the chain on, letting the ring fall between her breasts and hang there, warmed by her skin.

She presses her palm flat to his chest and leans in, tastes the struggling edge of his mouth as he stands there.

"Go to work, Kate," he murmurs into her kiss.

"As long as you go back to bed," she says, touching the ring at her chest once more.

His fingers come up around hers, their hands warm together, and he smiles. "Deal."

* * *

The doors of the elevator glide open and she steps onto the homicide floor, so familiar, so natural that she can feel it clench in her chest. Not even three months with Castle can compete with that, eleven years spent at the precinct, long nights staring at her murder board, the quiet pride when she first sat at her desk. And it scares her.

It _scares_ her.

Because his loft has become her home, almost, sort of, but this-

This is her home too.

Has been for so much longer.

And she can tell exactly how easy it would be to slip back into her old routine here, working overtime, the aloneness of late nights, of crisp, early mornings. How easy it would be to become her old self again, her wary, stubborn, closed-off self.

But she won't.

She won't.

She's got Castle now, and even if she did let herself get sucked in again - he wouldn't let her. He would fight her tooth and nail over it, would make her see.

It'll be all right.

Kate draws a slow breath, lets it expand in her lungs, standing still at the door of the bull pen. She can feel the eyes weighing on her, Esposito's and Ryan's among them, but this is not about anyone else - it's about her. Only her.

So she waits.

She's been here before - the return to where she's meant to be, the moment of hesitation, the way the precinct is still a removed thing, a separate thing, not a part of her. Not yet. She is on the outside looking in.

But not for long.

She savors this moment, relishes it - how it feels to crave the adrenaline and the rush, how it feels to be wary, even fearful, of it, how her heart beats too hard, how her body cants towards her team, her desk, her purpose.

Just like last summer, it's still not completely right. The picture isn't whole. Castle is at home, but he'll be back.

And when she's ready - when she's sure - she takes that last step out, the first step in.

"Detective Beckett," Captain Gates greets, her voice cool and even as she stands at the door of her office. Nothing more; just her rank and her name.

And that's enough.

"Sir," Beckett says with a sharp nod, advancing to her desk. The wooden surface is clean and empty still, like it's been waiting for her all this time.

Elephant-less, of course, but that's easily fixed. She'll have Castle bring them back when he returns in a few months.

She rests a hand on the desktop, skims her fingertips over the familiar edge, and that seems to be the signal everyone is waiting for to turn away and go back to their jobs. It's just her and Ryan and Espo now, and she can see on the guys' faces all the things they would rather die than say.

Kate smiles, waits a moment more before putting them out of their misery.

"So. The sniper. What've we got?"

They relax instantly, skirting around their own desks to come closer as Esposito starts his report, and just like that, just like that-

She's back.

* * *

**100 Days of Summer**

* * *

**A/N:**

**Sandiane Carter**: This story - wow. It's been an adventure, and a challenge, and it has showed me over and over (if I needed any more proof) just how good chezchuckles is - her endless ability to adapt, her boundless imagination. It's impossible not to be inspired by her creativity. And I've learned a lot too, about these characters, about myself, and I think - I hope - that I'm a better person for it. And I want to thank you, all of you, readers, who have so supported this story with such enthusiasm, such faith, and have lived each of those one hundred days with us. It's been amazing. Thank you.

**chezchuckles**: I was going to be flippant and cute, but I can't now, not after *that* lovely statement. Sigh. But SC is right - I've grown as a writer and as a person. Submitting to a shared vision for this story was hard, but so very much worth it. The characters gained depth, and had fights, and their love became messy and realistic and true.

And you had a part in that too. I listened to you when you said Beckett spent too much time at Castle's place, or that Castle was being a baby, or that Kate was being too closed-off. Kate and Castle reflected me to some extent, my way of thinking or personality, and your reviews shaped the coming chapters, and also my own life. So thank you for being instrumental in that as well.


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